


The 49th Annual Hunger Games

by bakerstreetparadox



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: District 6, Hunger Games Tributes, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetparadox/pseuds/bakerstreetparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thesia Cudrow's life is forever changed when, on the day of the reaping, her name is drawn and she is thrown into the chaotic, unpredictable world of the Hunger Games. As District 6's female tribute, she finds herself forced to navigate her wildest nightmares. Alliances must be made and relationships put on hold if Thesia is to survive to become the winner of the forty-ninth annual Hunger Games.</p><p>Part 1 of my exploration of the story of the female morphling in <i>Catching Fire</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story about five years ago, and it's been sitting on my computer ever since. I figured it was high time it got published. It's nowhere near perfect, but it's here! This is also the first fanfic I've published. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Part of my purpose in writing this was to find answers to things that Katniss leaves out. Because this was written before the movies were released, I followed the popular fan theory that District 6 was the medicine district. By the time the movies revealed this theory to be incorrect, that element was too important to the narrative to leave out.

Chapter 1

              “Thesia Cudrow!”

The annoyingly high voice of Aeolus Wilkenburrow, the commanding, somewhat naïve escort sent to District 6 from the Capitol, rings out across the crowds. In two words, the silent spell that had captivated everyone in the streets is released with an audible sigh. People everywhere lean back on their heels, their frames slouched with the relief of their children being spared from the Hunger Games for yet another year.

Not me, though. It takes but a split second for me to realize that the name still ringing through the speakers is _my_ name, and in that split second the world comes crashing down on my shoulders.

My first thought is, _Wait._ My second, _That’s_ me. As my thoughts collect and the full meaning of _my name_ being called hits me, my thoughts coalesce into one word. _No_. Panic is building up in my chest. This is not happening. This _cannot_ be happening. _No, no, no, no, no._

I’m staring at the ground, but I can still feel the shocked eyes of my peers trained on me, waiting to see what I will do. I wish they would look away; maybe if they looked away, another Thesia Cudrow would step forward and claim my place. As silence settles over the courtyard, it is all I can do not to scream and run away as fast as I can. Pressure builds in my chest and stomach, blinding me and making it hard to breathe. I look back to the podium and wait desperately for someone to yell, “I volunteer to go for her!”

But the cry never comes. Gently, someone pushes the small of my back and says, “Go on, The.” I turn around and see my best friend Violet, her thin face pinched and pale, and nod. There’s nothing else to do. I take one shaky step forward, then another, and another, until I have broken free of the crowd of teenagers. My stomach clenches, a herald of the terror that is slowly washing over me. To calm myself, I count my heartbeats as I cross the empty path to the stage. On the thirtieth beat, I place my foot on the first step. On the forty-fifth, Aeolus is done shaking my hand.

As he turns me to face the crowd, I take a deep breath and force my emotions into place. I can’t stop the pounding in my ears, though, or the fear that grips my heart.

“Ladies and gents,” Aeolus says, showing me off to the crowd, “your female tribute for the forty-ninth Hunger Games!”

As always, the applause is respectful but short enough and empty enough to express the anger my district feels at being subjected to these Games. There are no cheery faces in the crowds, no whoops or hollers. Just people who are glad they or their children are not in my shoes. My fellows in the fifteen-year-old age group bring their hands together four only three or four claps, and some do not applaud at all. I thank them silently but do not dare look at them too long. If I do, I’m afraid I might start crying.

Clover, one of my mentors-to-be, leads me away from the podium so that Aeolus can draw the name of the boy tribute. At this point, I am hardly paying attention. I stare at the ground just past the stage, drawing into myself while the news that I’m going to be dead in a matter of days – weeks, if I’m lucky – slowly sinks in. I can’t bear to look up and see the faces of my parents, who are standing close to the front of the crowd. How could this have happened? I had only four slips in the reaping ball. Violet had twenty four.

Clover nudges me just as Aeolus’ hand withdraws from the boys’ ball. I close my eyes while he reads out the name, afraid that it will be one of my brothers.

“Pius Agrimony!”

My breath catches in my throat and I let out a cry that is one of both relief and utter horror. I force myself to open my eyes and make sure I didn’t hear the wrong name, though every fiber of my being wishes it was so. As my eyes land on the group of eighteen-year-old boys, Pius, with his tall, slender frame and blonde hair, is immediately noticeable. I catch him walking past my brother, Wart, who impulsively grabs his shoulders like he wants to keep his friend away from the stage. Pius holds him back and says something I cannot hear. Wart reluctantly steps back and looks at me, distraught.

Pius has been my brother’s best friend since before they could walk. As he crosses the courtyard, his hair gleams white in the sunlight. He is incredibly muscular from his years of wrestling boys in the schoolyard, but like many people, his bones stick out for want of food. Due to years of him visiting our house we’ve developed a mutual, sibling-like affection for one another, and you might even call us friends, though we are not near as close as he and Wart. He reaches the stage and pauses momentarily, trying to control himself much like I did. I see him swallow nervously and set his face before walking up the stairs, appearing as nonchalant as possible as he shakes Aeolus’ hand. Without guidance from Clover he joins me behind the podium. We are made to shake hands, and when I catch his eye, he makes an expression that asks, _What are we going to do?_

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aeolus says all too cheerily, holding out his arm to present us, “your tributes for the forty-ninth annual Hunger Games!”

Once again, the sound of hollow clapping fills the square. Just as it finishes, the Mayor of District 6, Solomon Seal, steps forward to deliver the Treaty of Treason. We all stand silently, only half listening to the long, insipid article that we have heard many times before. I stand with my hands clasped in front of me, trying – and failing – to calm my butterfly breath. Words pass through my mind as I internalize what has just happened.

Me.

The Hunger Games.

Pius.

Why?

Why, why, why?

I bite down on my lip, asking this quest over and over again. Hot tears threaten to spill from my eyes while inside I scream. Why me?

Why?

I am snapped out of my dark thoughts by more applause. As Mayor Seal, who is finished with the address, steps back, the anthem starts playing and the crowds start buzzing. Most of these families are fortunate enough to go home and celebrate their being spared.

But not mine.

I scan the crowds for my parents, but before even a few seconds have passed, two Peacekeepers take Pius and me by the arms and herd us into the lobby of the Justice Building. From there, we are led down a marble hallway, up an elevator, and into two receiving rooms on the second floor.

The Justice Building is a four-story-tall tower made of clean, white marble with large windows placed in between smooth columns. It’s fallen into a state of minor disrepair over the years, but it is still a beautiful, menacing building. The small room I am left in is stately in its simplicity with blue-gray wallpaper and two white armchairs. They face each other, the only things separating them being a small table. A threadbare blue carpet covers most of the floor, and there is a fireplace on the far side of the room. It’s so clean it has obviously not been lit in a very long time.

I sit in the armchair that faces the door, glad that it is as hard as a rock. Right now, I don’t want comfort in the form of a pillow. The hard space keeps me tethered to the ground; present in this room I so want to leave. I will have an hour to say goodbye to my family and friends – but how is an hour long enough to part with even one of those groups?

The door opens. I look up, wondering who it will be, and feel a twinge of disappointment when I see that it’s Clover. He is a young man with messy brown hair and large blue eyes hidden behind square glasses. He won the Games eleven years ago at the age of eighteen and is the only mentor we will really have this year.

District 6 has had two victors before. The first, a man named Burdock, was injured on his final day in the arena. The doctors drugged him with morphling while he healed, and he became an addict to the drug. No one ever sees him because he spends his days locked in his home, vacuuming up morphling and having nightmares about the Games. He’s not very old, maybe forty, but the drug has made his skin turn sallow and thin. His hair, once bright red, is now dark and streaked with gray. For the most part, he drifts around in a haze, never saying anything or focusing on any object. He was on the stage today, hunched over in his chair with sunken, out of focus eyes. I couldn’t see him very well, but I doubt he reacted to anything.

The second tribute is, of course, Clover. Since Burdock can only have a sensible conversation if he’s freshly drugged and willing to speak, he will be our mentor in name only. Clover will be handling the proceedings, and I’m glad of it. He’s a good-looking, easy-going man whom everyone loves. Provided Pius and I can be likeable and survive the bloodbath, he’ll have no problem getting us sponsors.

Clover walks over to me and holds out his hand. “Clover Quinine,” he says. I shake his hand from my chair, thinking of how odd this introduction is. I know who Clover is, of course – he’s been a celebrity since I was four – but we haven’t ever spoken and he’s probably never noticed me.

“Thesia Cudrow,” I reply. My dry throat cracks on my last name.

Clover frowns sadly as he sits down in the chair opposite me and examines my face. I am about to ask him what he’s doing here – what business we could already have without Pius and Aeolus – when he says, “I know this may seem abrupt, but I have a token for you if you will accept it.”

“Oh,” I say. “Of course.”

For eleven years, our tributes have had the same two tokens. They are passed down from tribute to tribute, collected off of the dead bodies and stowed away until the next Games. I had not even thought about them until now.

Clover pulls something from his jacket pocket and holds it out for me to take. It is a silver necklace made of a long chain with a charm on the end. I take the necklace from his hand and inspect it, for though I have seen it many times I have never had the chance to look at it up close. The charm is a symbol often seen around 6: two snakes winding up a staff with wings spread apart at the top.

“A caduceus, right?” I ask. I remember my teacher mentioning it once or twice.

With a nod, Clover tells me, “Thousands of years ago, before Panem was established, the people apparently worshipped a deity who carried one around as a symbol of healing. They made it representative of medicine and hospitals. As you can see,” He motions outside, where the medicine factories stamped with the same symbol can barely be seen, “the meaning stuck.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Well,” Clover grunts, standing up. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you on the train, Thesia.”

He walks across the room and opens the door, revealing an anxious Violet. Her face is read and splotchy from hastily dried tears, and we do nothing but hold each other in silence, letting all of our words drift between us in squeezes and thoughts. When the Peacekeepers come to take her away, she presses her forehead to mine and says, “Good luck, Thesia. Remember that we are cheering for you back in Six.”

I smile. “Thank you, Vi.”

The Peacekeepers lead her out of the room, and she’s quickly replaced by my family, who practically barrel in after she’s gone. At the sight of them, pressure builds behind my eyes until I am fighting back tears. I know that this is the last time I’ll see them, and it is all too much for me.

My mother reaches me first, and she does not bother holding back her tears. We cling to each other while she strokes my hair, and when she finally lets go all I want to do is hide in her arms again and disappear. My father draws me close an cups my head like he did when I was small. His tears, usually so sparse, wet the top of my head as he tells me he loves me in a choked voice. Sorrell, my thirteen-year-old brother, is, as always, the least emotional of the bunch. He hugs me and says, “Good luck, The. I love you,” but he does not cry. I am grateful for this, for he is the one thing that keeps me from sobbing.

Wart steps forward last and grasps my shoulders. Tears line his eyes and he doesn’t say anything. What is there to say? Wart, my protective older brother, must be hurting beyond belief.

I look at the ground and mumble, “I’m sorry about Pius.”

He gives one bitter laugh and looks at the wall behind me. A tear falls down his cheek. “My best friend and little sister sent to the arena to fight to the death.” His icy voice shakes with quiet rage. Quickly, he wipes his eyes and continues, “Be brave, Thesia. I’ll be waiting for you.”

              We sit together, the five of us, as the hour slips by. We tell stories and make jokes, but none of us acknowledge the terrible reason we’re here. In a way, I enjoy myself. I watch the faces of my family, trying to remember the way my father’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and Sorrell’s wild cowlicks.

We all jump when the door opens. Two Peacekeepers enter the room. My family looks up, realization that we have precious few seconds left together sinking in. As the breath in my chest grows heavier, I hug my family goodbye – first my father, then Sorrell, then Wart. When my mother wraps her arms around me, I smell her familiar scent, the one that has comforted and guided me my entire life.

And suddenly, I lose my resolve.

“Don’t leave me,” I say, clinging to my mother. She grips me tightly, planting a kiss on the side of my head.

“My brave girl,” she whispers. Her voice is rough.

There’s a sharp tug, and I feel her fingers loosen their vicelike grip on my back. “Mom?” I say, opening my eyes. One of the Peacekeepers is right behind my mother, pulling at her shoulder. Reluctantly, she steps back, never taking her eyes off of me. “Mom.” I step forward, panic building in my throat. “Mom, no, please. Mom.” I thrust my hand out, but she’s already too far away.

The door snaps shut, and I’m alone. With my family out of sight and the threat of cameras near, I force myself to breathe until any threat of tears has left. My shoulders won’t stop shaking

I see my token on the table beside me and pick it up by the clasp. The caduceus dances wildly for a few seconds before settling into a steady, rhythmic swing. I watch it until there is a knock on the door.

“Time to go,” a man says gruffly.

I shoot up and fumble to put the necklace on quickly before realizing the chain is long enough to simply slip over my head. “Coming,” I promise loudly. I make sure the clasp  is secure and then open the door. A Peacekeeper I do not recognize with plain brown hair and a pimple-scarred face stands before me, ready to knock again. The ghost of another command dies in his throat as his arm falls slack. Without speaking, he takes my arm and leads me from the room. We walk through the empty halls of the Justice Building and outside to a car that will take us to the train station. I’ve never ridden in a car before – only even seen them on the rarest occasions – and I don’t like the way the tinted windows make me feel trapped. At the train station, Capitol reporters buzz around taking pictures and broadcasting this moment to the Capitol – and, in theory, all of Panem, though most of the people in the districts are too busy with their own reapings to watch.

I squint in the bright sunlight of the station, looking for a familiar face. I spot a pale, drawn-looking Pius getting on the train just as Aeolus comes up and takes my free arm. He and the Peacekeeper lead me straight to the train’s door. They are not going to give me a chance to escape – not that I would try. One of our tributes made a run for it a few years ago. By the time they had subdued him at the entrance to the station, he had four bullets in his legs and could hardly walk. He was killed off pretty quickly in the bloodbath.

The Peacekeeper leaves and Aeolus escorts me onto the train. We step into a long, low, luxurious car with cold metal walls and floors. Yellow lights shine on metal doors that blend into the walls. The car has the air of an old train recently redecorated

Aeolus leads me to the nearest door and opens it with a flourish. “Your room,” he informs me.

I try to stay interested as he shows me my bedroom. It is small but grand, with a closet just inside of the door, a bunk on the back left side of the room and a door leading off to another room – which Aeolus tells me is the bathroom – on the right. Unlike the Spartan hall, the room has wood floors and dark walls, and there is a window on the far end. I look out of it, absorbing as much of my home as I can. With hardly a jolt, the train starts and I see the station fly by. With a pang, my vision goes blurry from tears and I force myself to look away. Instead, I look around while Aeolus explains the workings of our train ride to me. Dinner is in four hours. After that we’ll watch the replay of the reaping in all twelve districts. I can take a shower and wear whatever I like – it’s all in the closet. I must be on time for everything.

“Any questions?” he asks. I shake my head. “Very well. See you in four hours, sharp.” He turns and sweeps out of my room, swinging the door shut behind him.

Finally alone, I look out the window again. I am just in time to see the train pass through 6’s fence and into the wild expanse of uninhabited Panem. Watching the scenery, alone with my thoughts, I finally allow the wave of emotion that has been building up inside of me to come crashing down. Hot, miserable tears pour from my eyes as heartache and anger and, most of all, a terrible, gut-wrenching fear consume me. I crash onto the bunk and bury myself in covers, shaking and sobbing until I have no tears left to cry.

Even then, I lay curled up in the pillows, motionless. Almost all of my energy is gone, and the small amount that remains fuels my helpless fear. The Hunger Games. The very words frighten children and adults alike. I am being sent to an arena to fight 23 other teenagers to the death. My technical chance of surviving is one in 24, but my realistic chance is much lower than that. I am not particularly strong or brave. Most years, the Careers from Districts 1, 2, and 4 win because of their larger size and undeniable training.

I’m practically dead already.

Eventually, I drag myself out of bed and step into the narrow bathroom. I look around, apathetically noticing how nice everything is: the sleek sink, the shower with too many buttons. The sight of it all makes my dark mood plummet even more. I wonder why these people – the very ones who are looking forward to my gruesome, televised death – bother to put on such a show for me. They’re treating me like I’m human – special, rich, Capitol – because I am taking part in their Games.

It makes me sick.

Regardless of my stormy mood, my tear-stained, snotty face pushes me towards the shower. My skin is starting to crawl and I need to get clean. I’ve always been that way – I can’t stand to be dirty, even more than most people. My mother tells me I’m overreacting, but it’s an impulse I can’t control.

I start punching buttons in the shower, and when the water is a comfortable temperature, I take my clothes off and step inside. The water splashing on my back is enticingly hot – we never had hot showers at our house – and as I scrub my face and wash my hair, my mood starts to lift a little. My mind begins whirring and I start making plans – another impulse of mine. I stay in the spray of hot water much longer than I should, but by the time I’ve stepped out of the shower, my mood has lifted significantly. The beginnings of a game plan have started to form in my head. I don’t feel less terrified, but my confidence has started to come out.

I’ll need allies, I decide, and I’ll start with Pius. He’ll almost certainly ally with me – and he would be a good ally to have. I’m smart – certainly smarter than most of the tributes – and I’m muscular and strong. If I got my hands on a weapon and found a way to feed myself…

But no. I violently rub my dripping hair with a towel, shaking my head. I can’t let myself think I could _actually_ win the Games.

After I’ve dried off, I hang the towel up and look down at my clothes. They’re wrinkled and dirty, and even though I want to wear them, the thought makes me grimace. I go into my bedroom and put on the plainest thing I can find from the closet: a red, short-sleeved dress without any beads or wild prints. Then, I take the clothes I wore to the reaping and tuck them into a drawer. Long white pants go first, then the blue shirt. I keep my own underwear on, deciding that the Capitol stock is too frilly and impractical for my use, and try to find the dining room.

The hallway of the train car lacks any indication as to how to find the dining room. I stare at the door opposite me, listening intently for any noise, but there is none. I move further down the hall, and realize that this car must only hold sleeping quarters for tributes. The door leading to the next compartment opens and I jump. Aeolus, looking a little startled himself, steps into the hall. He seems to have reapplied his makeup especially for dinner and now sports yellow eye shadow behind thick black eyeliner with ruby-red blush and equally red lips. Immediately, I want to attack him with a sponge and hot water. I don’t know where the Capitol citizens get their idea of attractive, but it’s so repulsive I decide that I’m not letting anyone touch me with so much as a blush brush once I get there.

“Ah, Thesia,” he says, coming up and taking my arm. “You’re right on time! How very punctual of you!” He takes my arm and pushes me towards the door he just came out of. As I pass through, I look to my right to see if there’s any break in the narrow connecting hall. There’s not so much as a window to see through: no chance a tribute could leap from the train. I’m not one to kill myself to avoid the Games, but I was curious as to how many possibilities of suicide they had overlooked.

Apparently, none.

 I see Clover reclining around a long dining table, tapping his fingers on the polished wood. Aeolus greets him and leads me to a chair opposite an empty seat.

“Thank you,” I say. “Is Pius here yet?”

Clover shakes his head. “No. He should be here soon, though–”

“Because we have lots to do before you can go to bed!” Aeolus checks his watch, a large bronze _thing_ with a face the size of my palm, and runs off to fetch Pius, tutting about how the districts have no regard for time.

Clover straightens up in his chair and leans toward a basket on the table. He takes a long, interwoven roll and tears it in half to butter it. It looks delicious, and I eagerly step forward to get some more myself. But as I near the basket, I see that there are many different kinds of bread jumbled together.

“Rolls to represent all twelve districts,” Clover tells me as he takes a bite of his own. He takes a fluffy, pale, circular roll from the basket. “This is for District One. Would you like to try it? It’s my personal favorite.”

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’ll have what you’re having.” I take the said roll from the basket and bite it without putting anything on it. “So that’s supposed to represent District One?” I ask with a full mouth, pointing to the roll at the top of the basket.

Clover nods. “Each roll is supposed to represent the district in a way. Ours, you might notice, is shaped oddly like your token.”

I swallow the bread and touch the charm that hangs around my neck. “The caduceus?”

“Indeed.” Clover smiles at me.

Servants bring in trays that hold simmering pots of soup and plates full of succulent meat. My mouth starts to water just looking at the feast laid out. My family is fairly rich, and able to afford the more expensive meats like beef and chicken. I’ve always considered us fortunate at mealtimes, especially when I eat so much I want to throw up, but one look at the dishes here tells me my family’s fare would be like pig slop for even the poorest Capitol citizen. The thick stew is filled with seafood and poured over bowls of noodles. The vegetables come with ten different, extravagant sauces and jams. When Pius arrives, his eyes widen at the sight of so many gluttonous foods. His parents are only workers in the factory, and are so poor he and his siblings were forced to take up tessarae – extra slips put in the reaping ball in exchange for food. He merely stares at the table, his face slack, until Aeolus nudges him.

“Eat up, boy,” he says. “You’ve got a lot of weight to gain before you enter the arena.”

Pius nods and serves himself a bowlful of the stew. It is quiet around our table while everyone eats until Aeolus looks at his watch again and says, “Ten minutes until the reruns!”

I catch Pius’ eyes. We haven’t spoken directly since our names were drawn earlier, and I dread the moment we have to do so.

 “How exciting,” he says without letting go of my gaze. “Are you ready, Thesia?”

A few minutes later, we are sitting around the living car waiting for the reapings to start. Pius and I sit on a couch, both feeling fairly sick from the amount of food we ate. I press a pillow to my abdomen to make some of the discomfort go away, but the added pressure does not help. I throw the pillow on the ground and rest my feet on the middle cushion of the couch. Clover and Aeolus sit in two plush armchairs, but the former soon decides to join Pius and me on the couch.

The television flickers on and shows the seal of Panem. The national anthem plays in the background. Aeolus hums along in a high falsetto, mouth curved up in a too-wide smile. On screen, two reporters talk about the reapings, and I get an idea. If I’m to have allies, I’ll need an idea of who I want to ally with. Why not start deciding right now, when we get our first look at the other tributes? I hop up and ask, “Can I have something to write down the names on?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Aeolus asks rudely, but beckons for one of the servants to fetch me a pencil and paper. The man hands it to me just as the name of the female tribute for District 1 is announced.

“Sylkie Barilla!” the woman onscreen shouts. I write down the name, guessing the spelling as best as I can, and look back to the TV. Immediately, my heart sinks. The girl walking onstage is beautiful. She has long, perfectly wavy brown hair and skin tanned by the sun. I guess she’s eighteen, because she’s tall and looks very strong from her Career training. She looks over to the girls who didn’t get picked and dares one of them to volunteer for her. Her hazel eyes glint menacingly, and she is left alone. She won’t have any problem getting sponsors. I write down _Threat_ next to her name, for there is no chance of our allying.

The boy who is drawn is almost a joke. He is so small and skinny it looks like a gust of wind could knock him over. Not surprisingly, a boy volunteers for him as soon as the escort asks. A much more impressive physical specimen, he walks onstage as gracefully as a cat. He introduces himself as Glass Silver and goes to stand next to Sylkie.

The District 2 lot, both volunteers, look like the type of people who would beat you up in an alley in the middle of the night. They’re both average height, stocky, and muscular. The girl, Arden, has black hair that’s been chopped short and looks a little older than me, sixteen or seventeen. The boy is older, maybe eighteen, with short brown hair. His name is Otto. I write _Threat_ next to both of their names. District 3 spawns their stereotypical kids, scrawny and mousy, but the girl looks like she has some promise. Next to her name, Byte, I write _Ally._ The District 4 Careers, Kenzie and Kyle, seem as unapproachable as the others.

“They look like they could be useful allies,” Aeolus says, looking pointedly at us. Pius shrugs.

“They usually hook up with the One’s and Two’s. I don’t think I want anything to do with them,” he says. I nod in agreement.

Aeolus sighs. “Fine, but we’re making no decisions until we see them in person.”

The District 5’s are nothing special. The girl, Ariel, saunters onstage, her face stoic. The boy, a jovial-looking strawberry blonde named Matthias, bounces up in an attempt to hide his feelings, but when the camera zooms in on his face I can see fear glittering in his brown eyes.

We come next. I have to admit that next to the tributes from Districts 2 and 3, Pius and I make quite a pretty pair, which ups our chances for sponsorship. My hopes are dashed as soon as the close-up shot of our faces appears onscreen. The expression on my face is terrible enough to make me wince.

“I hate cameras,” I say spitefully. My onscreen face is pallid and angry-looking and I don’t look at Aeolus once.

“Do me a favor, dear,” Aeolus says to me, “and work on your camera face.”

I grimace at him at turn back to the set. They are announcing District 7 now. “Olivia Accolade!” the man onstage cries. Besides Aeolus, he is the only male escort in the Games this year. If possible, he looks even more garish than our escort.

Olivia Accolade is built like the girl from District 1, tall and spritely, with muscular arms from a childhood spent chopping down trees. Her long brown hair is worn in two braids trailing down her front, and a smattering of freckles sprinkles her noise. She’s probably sixteen, and incredibly pretty. I write down _Ally_ next to her name. I like the looks of this girl.

The boy for District 7, Alder, steps forward, but before he reaches the stage an older boy who looks exactly like him runs up and volunteers. _That_ is quite a surprise – no one in the outer districts ever volunteers, especially not the siblings of those chosen. The sight of these two brothers with identical auburn hair and green-brown eyes makes me feel incredibly sad. In a way, it reminds me of Wart and me. The fact that they could be our exact ages does not help. I swipe at my burning eyes and write down _Linden Baker, Ally_.

“Oh, come on,” Clover says when he sees me. “Are you crying?”

I keep my eyes fixated on the television, not letting the sudden tears fall down my face. Clover sighs and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, to which I do not react.

I don’t see anyone extraordinary in the next four districts. The boy and girl from 8, Hayden and Alayna, look like they won’t last five minutes in the arena. The tributes from 9 are both on the younger side, another pair that will probably die in the bloodbath. The girl from 10, Rose, looks alright, but the boy has such a sour look on his face I immediately dislike him. I feel a stab of pain for the girl from District 11, who is older but has a broken arm. The boy who is called up does not acknowledge her at all.

When they announce the District 12 girl, Aeolus actually laughs out loud. The girl who walks onstage is perhaps the skinniest thing I have ever seen. Her long black hair and tan face have been freshly washed, but that appears to be the only clean thing about her. District 12 works in coal, but I had never thought about what that meant before. In District 6, even the poorest parts of town are clean. But this girl’s clothes, which are probably the best she has, are covered in black dust.

“Those poor tributes from Twelve never last long,” Aeolus mutters after he has calmed down. The comment is apparently directed at me, and my quick temper flares up. Aeolus cannot tell me who to ally with – and, perhaps because of my annoyance at him, I write her name down. _Ivy Fleming._

The boy from 12, Blaine, is tall with shaggy black hair. He might be seventeen or eighteen. As he crosses the courtyard, the camera catches sight of a man and woman trying to keep control of little children who wail when they see what must be their brother ascending the stage.

“How many children do they _have_?” Pius asks. The rest of us all shrug, silently counting the figures. I can only imagine how many tessarae this boy would have to take up to feed them all. It’s no wonder his name got picked.

Standing next to each other, Blaine and the girl look so similar they could be related.

“Both of them are from the Seam this year,” Aeolus comments, his foot tapping the floor like he’s bored. Pius and I look at him confusedly. He sighs and says, “The Seam. The poorest part of Twelve. I wouldn’t be surprised if these two were the first to die.”

That comment mellows the mood substantially. We all sit and stare at the television set long after the reaping has finished. I think of all the names on my list, all the children who are speeding toward the Capitol at this moment, probably thinking of the best way to kill me.

“Well,” Clover says at last, “let the forty-ninth annual Hunger Games begin.”


	2. The Capitol

After the reruns, Pius and I walk back to the bedroom car, leaving Clover and Aeolus on the couches. When he reaches the door to his quarters, Pius leans against the wall and looks at me.

“You know, for sending us to be slaughtered, the Capitol sure is treating us nicely,” he says with a sly smile.

It’s an offhand joke of a remark, a typical Pius thing to say, but I still scoff. We’re alone for the first time today and that’s all he can say? He isn’t one to take serious things lightly – so why this?

I’m too exhausted to say anything about it (and too eager to keep him on my good side), so I just mutter, “They’re probably trying to soften us up for the big show.”

There is an awkward lilt in the conversation preceded by a short, stiff nod from Pius. Finally, he asks, “What did you write down on that list?

I unfold the piece of paper and hold it up. “I made a list of the people I think we should try to ally with. That is–” I stop, catching myself, “–if _you_ want to be allied with _me_.” I hope he wants to be allies – it would kill Wart to see his best friend and his little sister at each other’s necks on television. Besides, he is the only person here I trust.

“Let’s see, then,” he says. He takes the list from me, indirectly answering my question, and scans the document. “Why the girl from Three?”

I shrug. “She looked smart. I know she’s little, but she’s probably logical. Between her and us we could come up with a good plan to survive this thing.”

“Thesia…” He looks at me with a sigh. “The chances that either of us are going to ‘survive this thing’ are slim.”

Blushing, I stutter, “I know, I know. But maybe if we had the right allies…we could be some of the last people alive.”

Pius crosses his arms and looks at me calculatingly. “And then what? We have a replay of the bloodbath and see who the last one left standing is?” He shakes his head. “Thesia, when I got drawn, I told Wart that I would protect you – until the time came where I had to choose between you and me. And don’t even think our allies would hesitate to kill us the second we were the only ones left.”

“I know.” It’s all I can say. Pius has made me feel stupid, something I cannot stand, and it’s the feeling’s worse because I know he’s right. So I beckon towards the list and say, “Just finish reading it.”

He looks back to the page sternly but smiles to himself when he sees that I’ve put the kids from District 7 as potential allies. “Did you like the look of those two?” he asks.

“I figured they would know a lot… about trees. And they looked strong.” I can’t tell him I added them to the list because the girl looked trustworthy and the boy volunteered for his younger brother. It would only make him chastise me again.

“Well, we’ll meet them soon enough.” As he finishes reading the list, he frowns. “Why did you put District 12 down for allies, Thesia?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess…I wanted to annoy Aeolus. But it couldn’t hurt to have more fighting force.”

“But it could hurt to have more familiars we have to kill to win.” He hands the list back to me. “I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t know if District 12 would be worth allying. They’ll probably die in the bloodbath, anyway.”

“So what’s the harm in allying with them?” I fold the paper back up and search for a pocket in my dress to put it in. There’s not one, so I clasp it in my hand. “But it’s like you said. Until we know them we won’t know how many allies we’ll have.”

“Alright,” he agrees, holding out his right hand. “So we’re allies.”

I shake his hand and say, “Until we have to separate and deuce it out at a later time.”

He smiles sadly. “Good to know you have my back,” he says. I can hear the concern behind his words: concern for me, for himself, for us. I’m oddly touched by his rare display of affection.

I smile, too, not entirely sure what to say. I’ve never been one for words, so I settle on, “Until tomorrow then, Pius.”

“Goodnight,” he says, and turns to his compartment. I go to my own compartment and put the slip of paper on a shelf. I take off the red dress and hang it neatly in the closet, scanning the space for nightclothes. I open several drawers and finally find all manner of nightgowns, many of which are too lacey and beribboned for comfort, tucked away in the bottom drawer. At the very bottom of the drawer there is a short nightgown with only a bit of lace on the hem and collar. I slip it on and lie down on the bed, a multitude of thoughts running through my head.

In about a week I am going to be fighting for my life in an arena that I know nothing about. Well, I do know something about it – it will be incredibly dangerous, rigged with traps designed to kill at every turn. There will be twenty three other kids trying to kill me whenever they have the chance. If I’m lucky, six of them will ally with me – for a few days, at least. And if they do, we will need a plan. I come up with several vague ideas, the most far-fetched of these being allying with every tribute except the Careers and killing those six in the initial bloodbath, but it all comes down to the conditions of the arena. Hot or cold, paradise or living hell. The fact that I have no idea what I will face, that the situation is far out of my control, scares me more than anything else.

Eventually, I get cold and slip under the covers, hoping that the warmth will drive me to sleep. I have no such luck. It’s well past midnight before I close my eyes and fall into a fitful slumber.

The next morning, I wake up late. Hurriedly, I run a brush through my hair and splash cold water on my face. When faced with the overwhelming closet, I choose to wear the clothes that I wore to the reaping. They are old clothes that I have had for a while, clothes that are comfortable and still carry the smell of my house. Before I put my shirt on, I bury my face in the soft fabric and breathe deeply. The familiar scent calms me down.

In the dining room, Aeolus, Clover, and Pius are sitting around the table, eating.

“Good morning, sleepy head!” Aeolus chimes, beckoning me toward the single empty chair. I take a seat and look at all of the sinfully delicious foods sitting around the table. It takes me a while to decide on a custardy substance with raspberries on top.

“How did you sleep?” Clover asks me as he serves himself a second helping of rice pudding.

“Terribly,” I reply. “I don’t sleep well out of my own bed.”

“You had better get used to it pretty quickly,” Aeolus warns, far too cheerily. “Soon you won’t have a bed to sleep in at all!”

Annoyance pierces me like a knife. “Please don’t remind me,” I grumble, looking down at my plate. Aeolus clucks like an offended hen.

After we are done with breakfast, Aeolus tells us what we can expect in our first day in the Capitol. Upon arrival we will be at the mercy of our stylists and prep team, who will outfit us in our costumes – or, occasionally, lack thereof – for our chariot ride around the square. I glance first at Pius, who is fixated on the scenery rushing by, and then at Aeolus, who today is made up in pink and orange. He looks like a sunset gone horribly wrong.

He continues to talk about the chariot ride, the screaming fans, and our stay in the Capitol. I listen for the first five minutes, but after that, his words start to run together in my head. I stare out of the train’s window, not even pretending to listen, until he finishes his speech and exits the car.

For the remainder of the ride, I gather up my few possessions and join Pius in the dining room. I sit on a windowsill a few feet away from him and try to focus on the world outside. We are rumbling across a flat, golden-brown plain. I can see mountains in the distance.

My fingers find the caduceus hanging around my neck. As I fiddle with the token, it occurs to me that I haven’t seen Pius’ token, even though I know what it is.

“Did Clover give you the ring?” I ask. He looks at me slowly, his face expressionless, and nods.

“It’s right here,” he says, holding up his fist. He’s wearing the golden ring on the index finger of his left hand. The band is wide, and in the middle of the circular face there is a caduceus to match mine. I take his hand to examine the ring and he says, “I see you got the necklace.”

“Mhm.” I drop his hand and point at the ring. “It’s funny that these have been our district tokens for so long and we’ve never really studied them before.”

He shrugs. “They’re too small to really see onscreen. I think most of the time we’re fixated on the plans being made and the gruesome murders going on. I’m not usually looking at someone’s hand when there’s a knife in their chest.”

I grimace to myself. It repels me, hearing Pius say those things. I can’t see myself killing anyone, especially kids my own age. “Do we really have to do that, Pius?” I ask, leaning my head against the window frame. It rattles as the wheels of the train spin.

He sighs. “If one of us is going to make it, we do.”

I turn my glance toward him. He has been my brother’s best friend for years. Could I really kill him if it came down to the two of us? Could I ever face Wart again? He catches my eye and I know that he is thinking the same things. I look back outside and ask, “Pius, if it turns out that we’re the last two left, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, Thesia,” he says. “Maybe it’s best not to think about it. Besides, that’s probably not a decision we’ll have to face.”

I nod, ending our conversation. After a few minutes, our windows are blacked out as we enter the Capitol through tunnels. When we emerge, I am faced with a multi-colored array of buildings. People stop and watch as our train speeds past, pointing and chattering to their companions. I try to get a good look at some of their faces. There’s a woman who has dyed everything from her hair to her toenails bright pink and a man who has some of the longest hair I’ve ever seen teased into a white-blonde halo around his head. Everything about these people is freakish, but the way the jump up and down, straining to see the tributes whose deaths they will be screaming for in a week, is downright disturbing.

Clover enters the room. “Come along,” he tells us. “Our train will be stopping momentarily.”

***

“Ouch!” I exclaim as Colombia, a woman on my prep team who resembles a bird, pulls the paper from my skin, taking the last of my body hair with it. Her yellow eyes smile up at me reassuringly.

“That was the last one! And don’t you look…” She smiles at me broadly, but the grin doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, you look better.”

I stare at her, shocked, but she doesn’t seem to notice anything offensive about her offhand remark. The other two members of my prep team, Acastus and Tullia, circle me, making sure I am as hairless as a skinned rabbit. I cringe uncomfortably under their scrutinizing gaze. It took a great deal of convincing for me to strip off my clothes in front of them, and having them examine every inch of my naked body is pushing the limits I will allow.

“Don’t worry, deary,” Tullia says soothingly. She reaches out and pats my arm with her shiny, silver hand. “You’ll be gorgeous by the time we’re through with you!”

“I doubt that,” I mutter to myself. My prep team laughs merrily at me. I have to resist the urge to yell at them.

I close my eyes while Acastus picks up my arm and runs his eyes down it. I guess he’s satisfied, because he drops my hand and says, “She’s ready. Go get the lotion, Tulles!”

Tullia leaves momentarily and comes back with a pink bottle. She squeezes some first into Colombia’s hand and then her own. The pair rub the lotion into my skin. I am surprised by the stinging sensation it brings, but after I have regained my concentration I try to get a closer look at the stuff.

“Is that…?” I start.

“The most wonderful new lotion!” Acastus says, clapping his hands together excitedly. “It’s brand new; _I’ve_ only had it for a few weeks. You’ll absolutely love it, I’m sure.”

I laugh to myself despite the feeling that my skin is being burned off. “My father invented this,” I say. It had been his newest medicine, and his first in a couple of months. If you’re freshly hairless, like me and the rest of the people in the Capitol, you bathe in the stuff and it soothes your skin. I have never tried it, only heard Father talk about it endlessly and enjoyed the food and new clothes the substantial paycheck he received brought in.

“But your father lives in District Six,” Tullia says blankly as her hands circle my leg. I look down at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Where did you think the Capitol citizens get all of their medicine?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I thought all high-tech medicines were invented in the Capitol!”

              I start to explain to her, but she’s already left the conversation. Truth is, most high-tech medicines _are_ invented in the Capitol – powerful concoctions that stop the worst infections or dissolve a tumor in the blink of an eye. But few people know that there’s a small group of scientists in my district who don’t waste their time making old recipes for morphling and cough syrup – they’re paid by the Capitol to do work the Capitol doctors don’t want to do. They invent less glamorous medicines that take time and effort to make.

              And my father is one of them.

              Unfortunately, even though they create these amazing medicines, they’re too expensive for almost anyone in the districts to afford. I’d never even seen this stuff until now. I wish I could tell my father about it. He’d be so proud.

After I’ve been greased down and my enflamed skin has cooled, my prep team admires me with awed expressions. I blush, awkwardly standing there, stark-naked in front of three people I hardly know. After a pause, Acastus says, “You know, Kallias will have a lot of fun with you! Now that we’ve tamed those pesky eyebrows you’re not quite so ugly.”

Colombia giggles excitedly and runs out of the room, muttering something about “fetching Kallias.” The other two follow her quickly. I try not to be too insulted – their idea of beauty is strange makeup and too much cosmetic surgery. But Acastus’s comment still stings. This Kallias had better be able to work miracles.

While I wait for him to arrive, I spot the robe I’ve been given to wear lying on a chair. I make a run for it, knowing that my stylist will make me remove it the moment he sees me but not really caring. My own mother hasn’t seen me naked since I was a small child. I certainly don’t want to meet this man without any clothes on.

He arrives several minutes later. I examine him in the few seconds it takes him to walk from the door to me. He looks better than he does on television – I would even call him handsome if he looked normal – but the only phrase that can describe him is capitally flamboyant (pun intended). His skin has been bleached an unnaturally pale color – at least, I think it’s bleach – and his short, spiky hair is dyed bright aqua with hot pink tips. His eyes are fuchsia, lined in orange, and his lips are the same color pink as his hair. He wears a chartreuse shirt with a dark purple, velvet pantsuit and an orange tie. He’s relatively young, maybe thirty-five, and towers over me on the platform. This is probably helped by his aqua platform boots. While the colors work spectacularly well together, the overall effect is rather frightening.

“Well, take your robe off,” he says, not unkindly. “Tullia told me you were modest.”

I nod and slip the robe off of my shoulders, throwing it back onto the chair. Kallias steps forward.

“Well, Thesia, it’s nice to meet you,” he says. His lips curl in a friendly smile. I sigh, thankful that my stylist isn’t a sourpuss. “My name is Kallias.”

I shake his hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” I say. As it was with Clover, it seems strange introducing myself to him. He has been costuming and beautifying my fellows from 6 for twenty years – of course, until yesterday, he had never heard of me.

He begins to circle me, scrutinizing every inch of my body. I stand, rigid, until he says, “Relax, my dear. There’s no need to be nervous.”

“Sorry.” I shake myself out and stand normally, trying to breathe regularly, until he starts asking questions.

“You’re well-fed, aren’t you?” he asks, but before I can answer, he goes on, “Well-fed but not plump. The poor tribute I had last year looked like she hadn’t eaten before in her life!” He tuts sympathetically. “I liked her, though. She was full of spirit.” He examines my front, which causes me to seize up again. “My, you’re not very chesty, are you?”

I look at him incredulously. “What does that matter?”

Done with his examination, he tells me, “It is my job to make you pretty; desirable; sponsorable. I’m afraid tonight’s costume won’t give you any curves. Don’t worry though, the makeup will fix everything.” After a pause, he says, “You can put your robe back on. We’re going to have a little chat about tonight while we eat.”

While I hop off of the platform and put on my robe, I realize I am starving. I follow Kallias into a sitting room, where two plush couches face each other. He motions for me to sit in one, while he takes the other. He pushes a button and leans back in the couch.

“Now, Thesia, I’m sure you’ve been dying to know what your costume will be,” he says excitedly. For his sake, I nod and smile. In reality, I hadn’t really thought about it. The opening ceremony costumes traditionally represent a district. Since our district’s export, medicine, is not a terribly fashionable thing, I’ve seen tributes in anything from white coats to outfits made out of medicinal plants. The thought of my costume had crossed my mind a few times over the course of the morning, but I assumed it wouldn’t be anything special.

“Well, if you’ve noticed, I try to do something different every year,” he says, leaning closer to me. “I actually started developing this idea for last year’s Hunger Games, but the details weren’t figured out until it was too late.”

I frown slightly. What details could a costume have that would take more than a year to develop?

A servant comes into the room and places a meal on the low table in between us. Lunch looks like rare beef in raspberry sauce with some kind of green, leafy vegetable I’ve never seen before. The desert is a pudding doused in burned sugar and, from the smell of it, alcohol. My eyes widen once again at the extravagance of the Capitol food. At home, this would be a meal eaten at an impossibly luxurious wedding, not a casual lunch between two people.

Kallias serves himself food and goes on. “I assume I’m correct in saying that your token is the caduceus necklace?”

My hand automatically gropes for the chain around my neck – this is fast becoming a habit with me – but it’s gone. Some official took it up the moment we arrived at the training center. “Naturally,” I say, lowering my hand. I doubt Kallias even needed to ask. “But why do you want to know?”

He takes a bite of beef, swallows, and answers, “That symbol always fascinated my fellow stylist, Aglaea, and me, but we had no idea where it came from. So finally, when I had just about run out of interesting ideas, I decided to go see what it was. I found out that it originated in a country called Greece thousands of years ago. We were tempted to make you and Pius matching caduceus costumes, but the fine points didn’t quite work out. Anyway, the Greeks dressed very differently than we do today. They wore these…robes, you could say. Minimal sewing, lots of pleating and gathering. But very beautiful in a rustic, District Six sort of way.”

He talks about the costume for the better part of our lunch, and the more he describes and blithers and squeals about it, the more excited I get, too. I start to feel like maybe, just maybe, this dress will improve me. Maybe the audience will be fooled into thinking I’m beautiful – maybe even one of those “goddesses” Kallias mentions.

After we are done eating, he stands up, brushes off his velvet suit, and turns to me. “Are you, ready, Thesia?”

“Yes.” I stand up and follow him into the room again, where my prep team has reassembled. They all stare at me, grinning, while I disrobe and step onto the platform again. Then, Kallias leaves.

He must have already given the team very specific instructions, for over the course of the next several hours they descend upon me, covering my skin in powder that makes me look as pale as Kallias. I notice that it erases every scar and imperfection on my skin – the white nick on my knuckle from when I cut myself chopping onions; the long, thin scar on my left calf I got when I attempted to scale the wall surrounding our back yard. In a strange way, it feels like they are erasing _me_. I frown and try to ignore the plasticized appearance of my skin.

They highlight my skin with faint, glowing silver substance and paint my freshly-clipped fingernails a shiny silver that reflects whatever light hits it. On my right arm goes a large, detailed version of the caduceus. In place of the snakes’ eyes, diamonds are glued to my skin. They work on my face for the better part of an hour, but my eyes are closed the whole time. I have no idea what they’re doing to it until they draw away and Acastus whispers, “We’ve outdone ourselves, girls. Open your eyes, Thesia.”

I do so. Someone is holding a mirror in front of my face, and what I see makes me gasp. I am not necessarily pretty, but there is an ethereal glow about my face that seems to radiate around the room. My face has been covered in the same pale powder and highlight, and my lips are painted a barely noticeable pink. But my eyes stare back at me, as large as plates and lined in black. This and the silver-blue shadow they have brushed over my eyelids make my blue irises the first thing you notice when you look at me.

“I…” I say breathlessly. Is this creature in the mirror really me?

Colombia and Tullia hop up and down, their faces stretched into smiles so wide they look more like grimaces.

“Kallias will be thrilled!” Acastus squeals. Once again, they dash out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I look down at my body, marveling at everything about it, until they appear with my stylist. Tullia is holding a sack that can only be my dress.

Kallias circles me quietly, his face not betraying any emotion or thought. Finally, he says, “Excellent work, you three.” His purple eyes flick up to me. “Are you ready for your dress?”

I nod, thinking how nice it will be to have clothes of any sort on. Tullia unzips the bag and Acastus draws a light gray, ankle-length dress from it. The garment has so many pleats I can’t really tell how it will look until it has been slipped over my shoulders. When this has been done, Colombia puts intricate shoes on my feet. They are silver and reach about halfway up my calves, with interwoven straps and no visible buckles. A belt made of real silver is placed around my waist. I look down and see that it is two snakes, their noses meeting in the center of my torso.

Finally, my prep team braids my hair down the left side of my body, entwining small silver ropes in with it. When Acastus fetches a mirror for me to see myself, I don’t recognize the person in front of me. She is too fragile and pale to be real. She is stronger than ten men. It doesn’t matter that she is not gorgeous, because she literally glows.

“My dear,” Kallias says, placing a replica of my token around my neck where everyone can see it, “you are a goddess.”


	3. The Goddess

We find Pius, his stylist, Aglaea, and his prep team waiting for us by the elevator. Like me, Pius has been outfitted in the metal of his token, gold. His muscles have been enhanced by gold highlights, making him look every part the strong, handsome (if grossly thin) tribute. There is a gold caduceus similar to mine on his left arm, but he wears no belt on his pale gold, knee-length tunic. His hair has been mussed and colored with small gold flecks. His lids have been circled with thick black kohl, his bright blue irises a stark contrast to the sea of yellow.

We are whisked down the smooth elevator to the bottom floor of the Remake Center. We are, thankfully, not the last group to arrive. I immediately notice the kids from 1 and 2, who are chatting easily with each other. Sylkie and Glass are covered in sumptuous silks and furs, and with a sinking feeling, I notice that Sylkie looks infinitely prettier than I do. When we get closer to them, though, my mood lifts a little. She is a few inches taller than Glass, which looks awkward considering they are close to the same age. I can also see a thin sheen of sweat on their foreheads; the thick white fur they’re wearing can’t be cool.

To get to our chariot, we have to walk past Olivia and the Linden from 7. They are dressed in, essentially, shapeless brown sacks painted to look like bark. I nervously smile at them and wave, hoping to appear friendly, but they looked more confused and annoyed at our costumes than anything else. I sigh and drop my hand.

“We’ll work on them later,” Pius whispers, steering me forward. We reach our chariot, a brilliant, delicate-looking contraption. Pulling it are two beautiful horses who have had their coats dyed silver-fading-to-gold. I want to reach out and touch one, but Kallias nudges me.

“Don’t want to mess up the stylist’s beautiful work, now do we?” he asks. I shake my head and stand by the chariot. I don’t know whether he meant me or the horses.

As the time for the opening ceremonies draws nearer, the last of the tributes arrive. The tributes from 4, Kenzie and Kyle, are dressed in fishnet bikinis with capes that look like scales. The poor tributes from 12 are covered in black dust and wearing skimpy miner belts around their waists. The girl has a heavy shirt that stops at her ribcage thrown on. Up close, she doesn’t look as young as she did on television. She’s maybe seventeen, but so skinny I can see her hip bones and ribs.

When it’s time for the tributes to get in the chariots, Kallias and Aglaea help us in. There’s enough room that Pius and I are able to stand apart, just barely touching, but Aglaea clicks her tongue and says, “Don’t look so stiff, you two!”

I glance at Pius. It seems logical that, since he’s my only sure ally in the arena, we should present ourselves to the audience as a pair. Hardly any pair of tributes does more than smile at each other during the ride – it would certainly draw attention towards us.

He steps closer to me. Our arms, smartly left blank, press together.

“Better,” Aglaea says. Music starts up, blasting in our ears, and giant doors open to reveal all of the Capitol, cheering and screaming. Our horses, so well-trained they don’t need a driver, take off with a jolt. I am thrown backward and have to grab Pius around the waist to keep from falling out. Someone behind us laughs. I blush, hoping that it won’t be visible underneath all of my makeup, and appear before the audience. There is an almost imperceptible hush in the crowd when they see us, my arms still wrapped around Pius, but within seconds the people start cheering loudly again.

I resist the impulse to jump away, and instead calmly drop my arms and laugh at myself, waving at the screaming audience. The lights flooding the road blind me, and I’m sure all of the silver highlights on my body are glittering, making me impossible not to look at.

It takes somewhere around twenty minutes to get from the Remake Center to the City Circle. The whole time, I am trying to smile at the crowd, trying to wave but still show off my caduceus tattoo. By the time we’re halfway done, I’m tired of doing both. I let my left arm rest on the rim of the chariot and start waving my right. The lights are so bright, it is impossible to focus on one fluid shape in the mass of people before us.

Pius places his arm on my back in an almost overly-friendly gesture, to which the crowd reacts rabidly, screaming, “District Six!” and throwing flowers at us. He ignores them and bends toward me.

“Can you imagine everyone back home watching us right now?” he asks, his lips close to my ear.

I smile genuinely, looking at him and finding his face much closer to mine than I expected. “I’m sure they think we look like fools. Do you think anyone at home would _ever_ wear this?”

He laughs, turning again to give the crowd a wave, and jokingly says, “I’m afraid they might disown us.”

Because of the poverty of our district, everyone is notoriously thrifty. Even the richer families like mine spare money whenever they can. The sight of Pius and me, bedecked in two precious metals, must be making them roll their eyes. If they’re not too busy gossiping about our oh-so-obvious friendliness towards each other.

At another jolt in the carriage we both stumble again, but manage not to fall out of the box. Laughter ripples through the crowd and, trying to make the most of the situation, I inconspicuously nudge Pius and bow. Smiling again, I wave to the audience a final time as our chariot makes its way into the City Circle. Soon, the entire Circle is filled with chariots. The richest of the Capitol citizens wave down at us from their windows and balconies, screaming the names of our districts. When the final chariot is in place, the music stops and the people fall quiet.

President Snow appears on the balcony of his own mansion. He starts up his usual speech, welcoming the tributes and talking about the Hunger Games, while the cameras focus on each chariot and the tributes inside. I notice a few unfair cuts – a close-up of Sylkie’s face, the camera lingering on 4, even zooming in on Pius and me for a few seconds too long. We are a breathtaking pair; certainly not the prettiest, but one of the most noticeable in the circle. I send silent thanks to Kallias and look back at President Snow.

He ends his speech and the national anthem plays. There must be speakers somewhere near our chariot, because the music deafens me. My ears are ringing as we take a final spin around the circle and disappear into the Training Center, our home for the next several days.

Once we are all locked inside, Kallias and Aglaea run forward to help us out of the chariot and shower us with praise.

“You were absolutely glowing out there!” Aglaea gushes. “You were definitely one of the best pairs this year!”

“My dears, I have never been more proud of a pair of tributes!” Kallias says, pecking us both on the cheek. “I can’t wait for your interviews!”

We smile at them and ourselves, letting go of any nervousness we held with huge sighs. Some of the other tributes are staring at us blankly, taking in our ethereal forms with wide eyes. A few of them throw us dirty glances, but I do my best to ignore them.

As we’re swept away by our stylists, I catch the eye of the boy from District 12, Blaine, and try to smile as sweetly as I can. He nods back, which makes me feel a little triumphant. Maybe he’ll ally with us.

Maybe.

As we ride up the elevator, a mesmerizing crystal tube, Aglaea chats on. “And when you put your hand on her waist, Pius, and whispered something to her? That was sheer genius! The crowd loved it. Oh!” She puts her hand on her breast and sighs. I stare out of the elevator, entranced, as we zoom up six floors. I can see other elevators traveling above and below us, each going exactly the same speed, while the costumed tributes step out onto their floor. I think of the moment when Pius touched me. I had jumped a little, but tried to act nonchalant about the whole thing. How had the audience taken it?

When our elevator comes to a standstill, it opens to reveal yet another extravagant room. Each district gets its own floor where the tributes and their party stay. In the front hall, we are greeted by Aeolus, Clover, and Burdock.

“You were fabulous!” Aeolus says in a singsong voice. “Clover and I have been trying to seal some sponsors for you, and I think the work of your wonderful stylists helped!” He giggles like a little girl and takes Pius and me by the arms to show us our living quarters.

My quarters are larger than any room in my house – at least the size of the kitchen and dining room combined. There is a bed larger than any I’ve seen before, and when I sit down on it I practically sink into the plushy depths. There are buttons that summon any kind of food you could dream of in under a minute, control the temperature of the room, and even black out the windows. I take a look in the shower and decide that, compared to this, the one on the train was nothing. There are buttons on a panel that control water temperature, pressure, soaps, lotions and much, much more.

The rooms are beautiful, but they feel wrong.

“Why are they treating us so well?” I ask Aeolus somberly. He’s been giving me a tour of my room, and hovers close by while I inspect the shower. He seems a little startled by the question.

“We just want to show the districts how hospitable we can be!” he chimes, recovering quickly. “The Capitol treats its guests to the most luxurious surroundings!”

I wonder who, besides the tributes and mentors, could possibly go to the Capitol. We aren’t strictly allowed to leave our districts; even Mayor Seal has never left the confines of District 6 on governmental business. Occasionally, someone who is particularly starved for food will try to sneak out and hunt, but if the electrified fence doesn’t kill them, the animals or the Peacekeepers will.

When Aeolus leaves my room, I turn on the shower, step into the water, and scrub my skin with a grainy soap. I watch regretfully as the paint that made me shine goes down the drain, but I’m also glad to be free of the itchy stuff. A few particles of silver stick to the ceramic floor. Absentmindedly, I wipe them away with my toe. After my shower, I discover another electronic wonder in the shape of a box that, with the touch of a finger, sends a warm blast of air through my hair that untangles and dries it within seconds. I run my fingers through my generally unmanageable mass of waves, marveling at how smooth and soft it is.

In my bedroom, the closet has a control board where I can choose almost exactly what I want to wear. Out of curiosity, I scan the advanced options, but there are so many color, fabric, and cut choices I go back to the simple list. With disdain I notice that the underwear is still as frilly as ever, but my desire to stay clean overwhelms my want of simple, comfortable clothes. I choose relatively smooth-looking undergarments with blue lace covering their surfaces. After this, I put on an embroidered cotton shirt and dark pants made of a stretchy but sturdy fabric. I run my fingers along it, wondering what it is – some new invention made in District 8, no doubt. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

I sit down on my bed and rub my temples. The long day has started to take its toll on me. I have a headache that was a minor annoyance after the chariot ride and is now growing more painful with every beat of my heart. I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and what slumber I was able to manage was spent fitfully fretting about my time in the arena. I hope that dinner, which is sometime soon, will help quell my headache. In the meantime, I stand up from the bed, deciding that it is too comfortable, and sit on an armchair. That too is too soft and confining, so I lie down on the carpet and close my eyes. The material is prickly and sticks my skin like small needles. I sigh, rolling onto my stomach, and look out of the window. Bright lights shine everywhere, boring into my eyes and making me squint. To make matters worse, I’m starting to get hungry but don’t want to make the effort to order food for myself.

When Aeolus finally knocks on my door and calls out, “Time for dinner, Thesia!” I stand up from the floor slowly and open the door. He frowns at my carpet-wrinkled cheek but doesn’t say anything. I follow him into the dining room, where everyone else has already gathered.

Pius and Clover are sitting across from each other at a long dining table, talking intently. Kallias and Aglaea are attempting to engage Burdock – whom I haven’t seen since the reaping – in a conversation, but as usual it isn’t working. He stares off into the distance with his blank blue eyes, occasionally nodding at something they say but never answering back. I watch them as I sit in a chair next to Pius, trying to see their reason behind talking to the man. They must know him; know that he doesn’t ever speak. Eventually, Kallias sighs and turns to me.

“How are you feeling?” he asks in a somewhat weary voice. His skin is looking pastier than usual – I wonder if this day has been more taxing on him than it has on me.

“I’m tired,” I answer, “and starving.”

He reaches across the table and pats my hand sympathetically. “Try to get an early night tonight. You won’t have much time for rest anymore.”

The way he says “anymore” scares me – I know that over the next six days I won’t have the opportunity to sleep in or go to bed early, and then comes the arena, where I’ll be lucky to get any sleep at all. But the “anymore” makes it sound like Kallias is already betting against my survival.

Once everyone is seated around the table, a young man with messy brown hair and a starched white tunic goes around the table, serving us wine. I remember the stuff from a party my parents threw a long time ago, when I was allowed to stay up late and have tastes of their food and drink. The red wine had been bittersweet and burned my throat on the way down, and I had crinkled my ten-year-old nose and told my mother I would never drink wine again. I want to try it, though, and so I ask the man to pour it in my thin crystal glass. The wine is light pink and tastes like the wine at my parent’s party. I put it aside and take several deep gulps of my water.

The dinner we are served consists of a creamy salad with apples and carrots, a sort of chicken chowder, prime rib soaked in a sweet, spicy sauce, long, earthy tasting greens and twenty different kinds of cheeses. Three new servers, all dressed in white tunics, join the first man and make sure that our plates and glasses are always full. As I had hoped, the food and water make my headache go away a little bit, and I am able to concentrate on the conversation.

When dessert is served, I want to turn away from it. I’ve eaten so much I don’t know how I could possibly fit another morsel down my mouth. But we are served a shell of something dark and rich-smelling. I slice into it with my spoon and a stream of the same dark stuff, liquefied, flows out.

“What is it?” Pius asks, bringing his spoon to his mouth.

“Chocolate,” Clover answers. He is staring at his own plate hungrily, forcing himself not to gulp down the dessert in one bite. “It’s quite commonplace here in the Capitol, but once you get to the districts it’s one of the most expensive food items. I doubt even you’ve had it before, Thesia.”

I shake my head. I have heard of chocolate before, but never in my life dreamed I would get to try it. The chocolate seems to spread its flavor everywhere in my mouth the second I taste it. It’s richer than many things I have had before and I don’t know if I can finish it all, but it’s simply too good to be put to waste.

After dessert we go into a sitting room to watch a replay of the parade. With hints of embarrassment and glee, I look at my beautiful face, transformed by the prep team. I press my fingers to my lips, wishing they really were that thick, and sigh. While the screams and cheers are uproarious the entire ride, there is no denying that the second Pius touches me they escalate to deafening levels.

“What were you telling her?” Aeolus asks Pius.

Pius glances at me, smiling. “I asked her what she thought our parents thought of us right now,” he says, looking back at Aeolus. Our escort nods, apparently a little disappointed that that’s _all_ Pius said, and turns back to the screen.

When the replay is over, Clover says, “Go to sleep, you two. Your training session starts immediately after breakfast and you need to be alert and remember everything you learn. It could mean life or death for you in the arena.”

I stand up without question. My eyes are drooping, and though my headache is for the most part gone, I don’t want to relapse tomorrow. I’m a little annoyed to find one of the girls in my room straightening the covers on my bed and carefully taking my parade costume in her arms. I thank her anyway and say, “You don’t have to straighten my room right now – I mean, I’m going to mess up the bedclothes anyway.”

She doesn’t reply, just nods nervously and hurriedly leaves the room with my clothes. I’m too tired to wonder about her odd behavior. I take off my clothes and jump into the bed, not bothering to put a nightgown on. No one is going to pay me a visit anyway.


	4. The Training Room

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of someone knocking on my door. “Thesia, are you awake?” Clover asks. His voice is muffled behind the thick walls that separate us.

I sit up straight and look out the window. The sun’s not high in the sky, but I know that training starts early and I have overslept. Clover knocks on my door again, louder and more insistent this time. “Thesia!”

“I’m awake!” I assure him as I jump out of bed. I don’t have time to take a shower, so I run a brush through my tangled hair and try to make myself look a little better. When I scan through the closet, I pick the first sensible outfit I see – sturdy, flexible pants, a simple blue shirt, and black boots.

Clover is still at my door when I open it, and I nearly run into him in my haste to get to breakfast. “About time,” he says, jumping out of my way. “Come on, Pius is waiting for us in the dining room.”

“What about the others?” I ask while we walk down the hall. Clover shrugs.

“Sleeping in, I daresay. And Burdock…well, you know.” He sighs. “I don’t think he’ll leave his room unless he has to.”

I glance at my absent mentor’s closed door as we enter the dining room. “Clover,” I start, “if Burdock was your only mentor, how did you win the Games?” The thought of that man, mute and mad, getting his wits about him long enough to arrange sponsors for Clover and send him gifts is almost unthinkable. I don’t think I’ve even seen him blink.

Clover stops outside of the door and thinks for a minute. “I won because of a dedicated escort and sheer determination.” Then, as an afterthought: “And a flood that took out the Careers’ supplies.”

I nod and open the door. Pius is sitting at the table stuffing food down his throat. I wonder how he could possibly be that hungry and then remember that at home, he was lucky if he had three meals a day. If he ever ate at our house, which he probably did more than was polite, Mother would comment on how he always ate for two people. She didn’t mind feeding him, though. We had plenty of food, and his family had none.

“Morning, Pius,” I say as I move toward a table filled with food.

“G’morning,” he mumbles in between bites of pastry. I take a delicate china plate from the stack by the food and serve myself two breakfasts’ worth of eggs, buttery rolls, and scones with more of the delicious chocolate in them. I set the plate down at my place before pouring myself a glass of water and a mug of hot chocolate. Then, I sit down and look at the bounty before me. It takes more than a little force to eat all of it, but I want to eat as much as I can in preparation for what may come.

It’s hard to make the food go down because, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m a little nervous about training. I don’t really know what I want to learn, and I will have to face the other tributes. This time is vital for making alliances, and I’m afraid I might not be able to form any. I’m awkward with words and people I don’t know. I can only hope Pius is a better linguist than I am.

Clover sits across from Pius and me and, before he touches his food, says, “Let’s talk before we go down to training.” He takes a scoop of eggs and swallows them. “I’ll be coaching you two. I can coach you together or separately, whichever you like, but you have to decide before breakfast is over.”

I look at Pius. “What would coaching us together entail?”

“You would learn each other’s skills and weaknesses, even the ones you don’t want the other to know. That is, if there are any. The pro of coaching separately is that you’ll have more individual time to work on your own strengths.”

While I slice my eggs into perfect squares and pop them into my mouth one at a time, I think. What special skills do I have? I can tell you which berries are poisonous and which are safe to eat. If I have an open shot, I know at least twenty five ways to kill you. I can treat any minor wound, provided I have proper medical supplies. But I haven’t had experience with any weapon, except knives at the dinner table.

“What strengths?” I finally ask. Pius snorts.

“I can’t say I have that many myself – and what we know is probably remarkably similar. But…” He pauses, his fork left dangling in midair and says, “Do you think it would be more beneficial to coach us separately, Clover?”

“When I was in your shoes, my fellow district tribute and I coached separately. I’ve never regretted the decision.”

“Then…” Pius’ glance shifts toward me. “Would you be offended if I requested to be coached separately?”

I shake my head. That was actually what I had been aiming towards – I want to get as much help as possible, even if it means knowing a little less about Pius. “Not at all. We’ll be coached separately.”

Clover nods as though he expected this answer. “Very well, then.”

“Do you think it’s a smart decision, though?” I ask, just to make sure. “I mean, since we’re allying in the arena…”

“Allies only go so far,” Clover warns me. I nod stiffly, as though to say _Of course!_ But he still stares me down, his blue eyes sparkling vividly. “I learned that from experience. But do you have any questions about your time training?”

“What proved to be the most useful to you?” I ask.

He shakes his head at me. “That is not really important until I know whether you want to take an offensive or defensive stand.”

“Being…?”

“Offensive would resemble the Career’s tactics. Get as many weapons as you can, kill as many people as you can – though neither of you strike me as cold-blooded killers. Defensive would mean staying away from as much fighting as you could, gathering food and a few weapons, but in general staying alive and only killing when necessary.”

I look down at my plate, nearly half empty now, and say, “I suppose I’ll take a defensive stand. You’re right – I don’t like the thought of killing people.”

“Get used to it,” he says bluntly. “And you, Pius?”

“I’m defensive as well,” he says, “as long as I can be.”

Clover nods. “Then I would advise you to learn survival skills. Know how to handle two or three of the most basic weapons – a knife, hand-to-hand combat – but focus on shelter-making, food, and the like.”

It was what I had been planning to do all along, so hearing Clover back up my logic makes me feel better about my plans. I try not to let my thoughts wander to the Careers, who will surely be focusing on combat, their strong, hefty frames handling the weapons with ease.

It is quiet around our table until Pius pipes up, “So, Thesia, I suppose we start making allies today. How exactly do you plan to do this?”

“Um…” I shrug. “I figured we would talk to them whenever we saw the opportunity. Show them what we know and see what they do. Any suggestions, Clover?”

“Don’t trust any of them,” he says harshly. “Other than that? No. I was never good at making allies.”

“Very well, then,” I say. Clover obviously doesn’t think much of allies. I know they are not vital, but they certainly seem to help tributes the first couple of days. “Do you have an idea, Pius?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. I guess…” His blonde hair moves across his forehead as he shakes his head back and forth. “I’ll take District Seven if you’ll get Twelve and Three – you’re the one that wanted them.”

“Alright.” This seems fair enough, though I am not at all comfortable with the idea of having to convince three kids to ally with us. I start planning out the conversations in my head, how I will nonchalantly walk up to the District 3 girl and show off my knowledge of edible plants, but the sooner our training time draws the less sure I am. Finally, as we are walking to the elevator, I give up all hopes of a preplanned conversation and decide to wing it. My middle clenches nervously and I grimace.

The swift motion of the elevator doesn’t do much to ease my stomach. I’m so nervous I’m starting to fear I’ll lose all of the rich foods I ate at breakfast. In less than a minute, we come to a halt and the elevator doors open. We step into a huge, bright gymnasium several floors underground. There are stations with all sorts of weapons, obstacle courses, and survival tools. Other tributes stand in a circle, quietly shuffling their feet or stretching. They all have their district numbers painted on white squares of fabric that are pinned on their backs. I can see the numbers _1_ , _2_ , and _9_ , and recognize the tributes from _3_ and 5 standing across from us. Someone pins what I assume to be the number _6_ on my back, and I go join the circle. I stand silently, sizing up my opponents now that they’re not covered in makeup and wearing over-the-top outfits. Sylkie, the girl from 1, is still strong and beautiful. I notice with a little bit of pride I still have several inches of height on her, but with all that muscle I assume she weighs more than I do. The kids from 2, Arden and Otto, are as frightening as ever, even though I have to look down to get a good look at them. In fact, I have to look down at almost everyone in the circle. I’m more well-fed than many of them, too. There’s hardly a round cheek or healthy body in the group.

When the last of the tributes, those from District 11, arrive, the head trainer, a stocky, muscular man named Fortis, steps up and addresses us all. He welcomes us to the training center and goes over rules and regulations for our time down here. We are allowed to go to any station we want for any length of time, following our mentor’s instructions. We are not allowed to fight or go against another tribute while we are down here – or anywhere in the Capitol, really – and if we wish to practice combative skills, specially trained assistants are on call. He reads down the list of stations, and I make a mental note of what I want to learn – hand-to-hand combat, knife skills, fire-building – until he releases us. As expected, the Careers head straight for the heaviest, deadliest weapons. Glass immediately pitches an axe perfectly and lands a bullseye.

“So you still got Twelve and Three?” Pius asks from behind me. I jump, surprised, and turn around. He is laughing at me silently, his blue eyes twinkling.

“If you still have Seven,” I answer him. “What station are you going to first?”

“I thought I might try edible foods. I know we already know a lot of them, but it might give us an idea of where we’re going.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It doesn’t seem like the Gamemakers would waste our time teaching us about foods we could find in a desert if we’re going to be in a tropical forest. “Sounds like a plan. Tell me if you learn anything interesting. I’m going to go throw some knives.”

I leave him and head to the knife station, hoping I won’t make a fool of myself. I’ve never actually used a knife defensively before, only to cut the meat at the dinner table. Ariel from 5 and the boy from 8 are already at this station, and when I walk up they eye me warily before turning back to the task at hand. The instructor, a youngish woman who uses few words, tells me what to do and helps me go through the motions. The first knife I throw feels heavy in my hand and goes way off course. My stomach drops and I am sure everyone saw me fail miserably, but the instructor encourages me to try until I hit the mark. I pick up a second, lighter knife and immediately decide it feels better, more natural. This one hits the target, though is far from the center, but when I see how Ariel and 8 are doing, my blush goes away. They’re about as hopeless with knives as I would be with a club.

Soon, I am so absorbed in throwing the knife I block everything else out. Sounds and sights are not important anymore – my only goal is to hit the bullseye. I work at it for about an hour and a half and finally, with a satisfied _thud_ , the silver blade embeds itself in the center of the target.

“Well done,” the instructor tells me with a smile. She looks impressed. I grin at her, more overjoyed by this simple achievement than I should be, and run to fetch my knife.

“Can you teach me how to fight up close with it as well?” I ask her.

“Of course,” she replies. She takes a longer, meaner-looking knife and tells me, “Don’t confuse fighting with a knife and fighting with a sword. They couldn’t be more different, really. Knives are up close, hit-or-miss weapons.” She goes on to show me how to parry, stab, and defend myself with a seven-inch-blade. I pay attention to everything she says, memorizing it, until she says, “If you want to practice, ask one of the assistants.” She waves at the group of quiet individuals who stand off to the side.

“Thank you,” I say. I look at the group of assistants and am about to ask one to fight me when I decide to do it later – maybe even tomorrow. That way, I’ll know if I’ve retained the information. It’s a method I used all the time when I went to school to remember tricky subjects. I place the knife back in the neat case of differently-sized knives and scan the room to see where to go next. I’ve just decided on the edible plants station when a bell goes off, signaling lunch-time. Everyone drops what they’re doing and we all congregate in a room off the gymnasium. There are several round tables in the room surrounded by carts of food.

“I guess this is when we get our allies,” Pius whispers behind me, startling me again.

“Here goes nothing,” I tell him, and go off to get my food. I spot Blaine sitting at a table on his own, his back to the rest of the room. The only kids who make any effort to sit with each other are the Careers. They talk loudly, cracking jokes and showing off their muscles. Everyone else sits with their eyes glued to the table, not saying anything. I finish filling my plate and take a deep breath. Once again, I start planning what I’m going to say to Blaine. How will I bring up the subject of allying? How will I even start a conversation?

I walk over to his table and decide that sitting with two chairs between us seems like a good idea, not too friendly, but not too cold, either. He looks at me and turns his head to see if the other tables are filled. Like he doesn’t know why on earth I would sit with him.

“Hello,” I finally say. My chest is swollen. I can feel my face turning red.

 _I hate talking to strangers_.

He nods curtly and says, “Hello,” before turning back to his lunch.

I take a deep, silent breath and try again, “How is training going for you?”

“Fine,” he says. His eyes, a startling gray I hadn’t noticed before, look at me quizzically, wondering why I would be talking to _him_ of all people. “And you?”

“Good, I think. I’ve only been to knives so far. What about you?”

“Shelter making and archery. But should I be telling you this?” He raises his eyebrows. A million replies go through my mind, but I can only think of one that will get us anywhere.

“Well, if we’re allies it won’t matter, will it?” I ask as diplomatically as I can, hoping that I’m not being too forward.

Blaine doesn’t say anything for a full minute. His eyes never leave mine, and behind them I can see every thought and emotion that runs through his head. Doubt, surprise, relief, suspicion. Finally, he asks, “Why would you want to ally with someone from District Twelve?”

I shrug. “For the first couple of days, allies can be a useful resource. Logically thinking, the more allies you have the more likely you are to survive the first few days. Then, of course, there’s the nasty business of splitting up and later killing each other, but…” Once again, I shrug.

He abandons his food and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms protectively across his chest. “And why should I ally with you?”

I take my time replying, not wanting to say the wrong thing. My voice drops to a whisper as I tell him, “I’m the most likely to know which plants are edible – District Six, you know. And I just found out that I’m pretty good with a knife.”

Again, he takes a long time to reply. I’m starting to think he’s going to turn down my offer when he says, “Alright.” He takes a bite of food. “I’ll consider allying with you. How about I let you know by the time we leave training tonight?”

I smile sweetly. “It’s a deal.”

Unfortunately, the girl from District 3, Byte, is not as easy to convince. I spend all of my lunch time eating and talking with Blaine – in fact, I actually start to like him – so the only opportunity I have to talk to her is when she heads over to edible plants. I abandon the fire-building station and head over to intercept her. We meet just as we reach the table. She glances at me but does not say a word.

The instructor goes over the basic signs of edible or poisonous food. The things he shows us seem to be variations on what we have at home in the wintertime – pine trees, mistletoe, and wintercress – and so I’m bored to tears in the first five minutes. Byte is soaking up every word he says, though, which is good for me. If only I could find a time to show how much I know…

After lecturing us for about thirty minutes, the instructor lines up about ten different plants and says, “Alright, which one of you wants to test your knowledge first?”

“I’ll go,” I volunteer. This is the perfect time to show what I can do. As long as she pays attention…I look down at the plants and almost roll my eyes. This test is too easy. “Pine needles, good for making tea when chopped or ground up. Mistletoe, not quite poisonous but harmful if ingested. You shouldn’t eat berries in general, though, unless you know for a fact they’re edible.” I fly through the test, getting every answer right and making the instructor look downright pleased.

“Excellent job,” he says. “Your turn, Three.”

I hang back, watching her take the test. Truth be told, she’s not awful; in fact, she gets all ten right. It takes her a long time to complete the test, though, and with each pause or stumble I see the instructor purse his lips a little bit more. I wonder what it’s like, training kids year after year, knowing most of them are going to die. Seeing them use something you taught them onscreen, only to be fatally wounded five seconds later. No wonder the man looks so concerned.

When Byte is done with her test, she turns around and sees me. “Why are you still hanging around?” she asks coldly. For a moment, I reconsider my wish to ally with her. But I bite my lip and look her squarely in the eye.

“It would help if you had an ally who didn’t have to second guess every plant she wanted to eat,” I offer.

For a moment, she looks at me, trying to figure out my motives. Then, she says, “I’m not allying with anyone.”

My heart falters. “Why not?” I ask.

“They’re a waste of time,” she says, folding her arms. “And I don’t want to sleep knowing the person lying five feet away from me might kill me at any moment.”

It’s a fair point, and the second it comes out of her mouth I know I can’t argue it very well. “Alright,” I say, not yet ready to give up completely. “Think about it, then.”

“Not likely.” She walks away without saying anything else. I watch her go, frustrated at this flagrant waste of time, and go to archery to blow off some steam. This isn’t as easy as knife throwing, and though I never manage to hit the bull’s-eye, the sharp _twang!_ of the bow string feels good against my fingers. When that’s done, I move on to shelter building, figuring I might as well get something useful done in the time I have left. For me, building shelters is simple, provided I have the right supplies. It’s precise and mind-consuming and takes time, which won’t be the best thing in the arena but distracts me for now. Soon I’m lost in the steady, swift motions my arms make as they transform sticks, leaves, and rocks into a small but sturdy dwelling. I step back and admire my handiwork. It’s not very pretty, but in a dense, green area it could easily be mistaken for a part of the landscape.

I take it down and start building another shelter until a bell rings again, signaling the end of the day. Some of the tributes are more reluctant to drop their weapons than others, myself included. I am not yet done with the shelter, and my desire to finish it is so great I ignore the retreating crowd of people as long as I can.

“Hey, Six!” one of the instructors calls out. “Time to go!”

I sigh and stand up to join everyone else. I catch sight of Byte watching me out of the corner of her eye, her glance flicking back to the half-finished shelter at the station. I can almost see a wave of doubt pass over her face. Then, she shakes her head and leaves the room. Pius is getting into an elevator with the two kids from 7, and I see Blaine heading for the same lift. With a little more speed than necessary, I too get in the elevator before the glass doors can close.

“It’s the end of the day,” I tell Blaine. “What’s your answer?”

“Wait,” Olivia from 7 says before he can answer, “you’re allying with him, too?”

With a small, triumphant smile I look at Pius, who is sheepishly avoiding the eyes of everyone in the room. “I don’t know. We were considering it.”

Blaine looks downright surprised at the thought of having not one but four allies, for I suppose Pius has convinced Olivia and Linden to join up with us. After a moment of dumbfounded silence, he says, “Alright, I’ll ally with you. If Seven over there is fine with it.” He points at Olivia with a backward thrust of his thumb.

“Why not?” she asks. “We’re almost as big as the Career group now.”

“We could be bigger,” I say, for even though Byte has dashed any hopes of allying with us, there’s the girl from Twelve. “Blaine, what are you and…what’s her name?”

“Ivy?” he asks. I can only assume that is the name of his fellow tribute from 12.

“Yeah. Are you teaming up with her?”

He shrugs. “I hadn’t thought about it. I could see…”

The doors of the elevator open to reveal our floor. I stick my foot in the door so it won’t close and say, “Think about it. It will be a pleasure to ally with you, I hope.” I hold out my hand and shake it. Then, I turn to Olivia and Linden. “I’m Thesia, by the way,” I say. I shake both of their hands as they introduce themselves. Then, Pius and I leave the elevator and the door closes behind us, whisking the other three up to their own floors.

“Well, I would call this day a success,” I say cheerfully. “Three allies and some useful skills picked up in seven hours.” It was more than I had hoped for, really. We had three of our potential five allies _and_ I had picked up a weapon I was fairly skilled with. “I don’t think Byte’s a taker, though.”

Pius shrugs. “Who cares? I don’t think Olivia fancies the idea of having any more allies. If you get too many, they become more of a burden than a help.” We walk into the sitting room of our quarters, which is strangely devoid of adults.

“I know,” I say, sighing. “Fine, then. We don’t get anymore allies. And if Blaine gets…what was her name? Ivy? If Blaine gets her to join us, fine. If not, fine.” I sit down in a chair and stretch my arms. I already have calluses on my fingers from archery, and they ache like I’ve rubbed them raw. “How did you get both of them to ally with us, anyway?”

He plops down on a couch across from me, sliding off his shoes and letting his feet rest on the arm. “I don’t know, really. But once I got started, it was easy enough to convince them. Especially after they saw you with that knife.” He smiles, watching the ceiling. “I wonder if they would hear us if we threw something up there.”

I hadn’t thought of that before. Olivia and Linden might be sitting right above us right now. She probably sleeps over me, the only thing separating us being six feet of air and a ceiling. “They – the Capitol, that is – have probably figured out some way to sound proof everything. It’s crazy, what they can do.”

“And it’s crazy – no.” Pius shakes his head, his brow creased in a mix of frustration and annoyance. “Never mind.”

I tuck my feet under myself and watch him. I’m pretty sure I know what he was going to say – that it’s crazy the Capitol has so much and we, the people, have so little. I’ve heard Pius and Wart talking about the Capitol behind closed doors late at night. They both hate the Capitol, and President Snow, though Pius is more radical. He probably even hates my family a little bit, because we have so much more than he does. I can’t imagine he’s enjoying being surrounded by luxury.

A few minutes later, Clover walks in to the room. He looks a little surprised to see us, but sits down on an armchair. He crosses his legs and observes us. “How was your first day of training?” he asks.

“I learned some useful things,” I say. “Like how to fight with a knife.”

Clover smiles. “Very good. You can never count on anything in the arena, but they almost always have knives. Unless, of course, the Gamemakers decide to give you a little treat and only supply a specific kind of weapon.”

Pius sits up on the couch and turns toward Clover. The hair on the back of his head twists in all sorts of different directions. “How many times have they done that before?”

“Twice. The first time was at the tenth Hunger Games – to celebrate ten years of Games, you might say. There was nothing at the Cornucopia but axes. It gave the tributes, who were expecting a full range of supplies, a bit of a nasty shock, but I can imagine the Capitol citizens enjoyed it.” I grimace. That would be an awful way to die – hacked at by an axe. I’ve heard that even if you’re beheaded it takes five seconds for the brain to die – five seconds of pain worse than anything else. Clover snaps me out of my thoughts by saying, “The second time was a little better. The tributes had food and water, but the only weapons in the whole place were spears.”

I bite my lip, a nervous habit, and say hopefully, “Well, maybe with the Quarter Quell next year we won’t get such a nasty surprise.”

Clover shakes his head mournfully. “I wouldn’t put any hope in that.”


	5. The Plan

Over the course of the next two days, I go from station to station, picking up as many skills as I possibly can. Paranoia slowly starts creeping into my veins as the full idea of what I am going to do – how I am going to die – hits me. I become almost obsessive in my need for learning how to handle weapons and build the perfect fire. I’m glad that I already have basic medical knowledge and can do simple first aid such as bandage a wound or sprain, treat hypothermia and heat exposure, and stitch a cut closed, but that doesn’t seem to be enough. It terrifies me that I have no idea what I’m going to face. That I’m not in control.

On the second day, Blaine informs me that Ivy has agreed to ally with us. Our group of six sits at a table together, thus establishing ourselves as allies. We aren’t quite as loud and friendly as the Career table is, and Olivia and Linden are still downright stiff, but we stand in stark contrast from the other tributes, who sit quietly and never look away from their food.

We start to formulate a plan about how we’ll meet up and survive the first few days in the arena. It’s pretty clear not many of us want to go near the bloodbath, but we’ll need supplies if we’re going to survive.

“We need to pick those with the most fighting experience,” I say in a hushed tone, “or someone who knows what items will be the most valuable.”

“And how many people are we going to send in?” Blaine asks. Our six heads are so close together they’re touching. I’m sure everyone is looking over at us, but hopefully they can’t overhear our plan making.

“Half,” Pius says in a definite tone. His face is screwed up in concentration. “If we send three people to the bloodbath, the other three can congregate and wait for whoever makes it out to come back. Do we have any volunteers?”

For a moment, no one speaks. But then, as softly as a bird’s whistle, Ivy says, “I’ll go. I’m quick and I know what we need to survive.”

I know I should volunteer, that I’m fast enough to get there before most other people, that my need for control would have it no other way, but the bloodbath is the thing I fear most about the arena. On average, two fifths of the kids die in the first few minutes of the Games. You never know when someone will stab you in the gut or spear you through the heart. Do I really want to subject myself to that? Why not let someone else, one of these people that I’m trying to convince myself I care nothing for, go instead? Risk their lives so mine will be sustained just a few days longer? But I’m going to die anyway. I might as well try to help my allies.

“I’ll go too,” I whisper, not meeting anyone’s eye.

“Thesia, no,” Pius says, taking my hand. I lift my head and stare at him, my face set.

“I’m faster than anyone at our school,” I say. Though the words are heard by all around our table, they are meant to convince Pius and reassure me. I am paying attention to nothing else. “I just learned I’m pretty handy with several weapons. Don’t worry; if I think I need to get out of there I will.”

His shoulders slouch. “I promised Wart I would protect you, Thesia. You can’t go running off risking your life the first minute we get there.”

There is an impatient sigh from across the table. “This is all very touching,” Olivia says, “but we won’t get much planning done if we argue about who promised to protect whom. I’ll volunteer to go to the bloodbath.” She smirks and adds, “I’ve been playing with axes since I was a baby.”

“I’ll go as well,” Linden says. With the voice of the third volunteer, we all seem to relax. The most sensitive part of planning, hopefully, is done with.

“Fine,” I say, “but I still want to try and get something.”

Linden holds up his hands in a mock surrender and looks me squarely in the eye. “You do want you want, Six.”

I nod and glance at Pius. He looks downright betrayed, and I do feel a little guilty for disregarding him, but I immediately start planning again. “So how will we meet up once the Games begin? We’ll be spaced out on the ring with no hope of finding each other when we split up.”

This stumps us for a few minutes. There is no possible way to go by a landmark, and going by direction of the sun is too tricky. Finally, Blaine says, “Pius.”

“What?” We all look at him, confused.

He motions to Pius and continues. “He’s the tallest of all of us; one of the tallest in the group. If we all pinpoint his location, once we leave our blocks we merely run directly away from the Cornucopia. Hopefully there will be some kind of covering, like a forest or hills. But even if there’s not, we all make our way toward him and meet up once the bloodbath is over.”

We consider this for a moment. Then, Olivia, ever the pessimistic analyzer, asks, “And what if he is placed in front of the most inconvenient location in the whole arena?”

“Uh…” Blaine says, stumped. “Well, we can’t think about that, because then we’ll have so many plans we won’t remember which is which and someone will forget what to do and everything will fall apart.”

He has a point, and I can’t think of any better plan. “I like it,” I say. “It’s our best shot unless we want to stay near the Cornucopia and fight the Careers for possession of the supplies.”

Olivia frowns and sits back in her chair. “Fine,” she says, a little too loudly, “but I don’t like it.” I turn around and see at least three quarters of the other tributes staring at us. For a moment, I debate whether or not to make a face at them. Then I remember I don’t want to get anyone mad me.

At least, not yet.

On the third day of training, we’re sitting in lunch when Fortis comes in the room and says, “Glass Dabney, please report to the gymnasium for your evaluation.”

Glass leaves the room. I glance at my allies, sweat breaking out on my palms, and look at the table. The Gamemakers have been watching us train since early on the first day, and now we must showcase our skills in front of all of them. I’ve been fretting about it since Clover first mentioned it, mainly because I have no idea how to show them what I can do. Yes, I’m good at fighting with a knife, but how will I show that when faced with a skilled professional? I think I remember Clover mentioning what the judges want to see, but I can’t remember his words for the life of me.

_Think, Thesia,_ I tell myself. _Make a list of what you want to show the Gamemakers. One, you need to figure out a way to show them what you can do with a knife. Two…two...well, you know how to kill people. The dummies are somewhat anatomically correct – just think of your twenty five ways to kill. Three, you do know a lot about edible plants. But will the Gamemakers care about that?_ I sigh and sit back in my chair, crossing both my legs and my arms. The room has gone eerily quiet.

I ruminate in my thoughts while, one after one, tributes are called into the training room. Once they go, they don’t come back. When Pius is called, he rises from his chair and smoothes his hair back.

“Good luck,” I say. He looks down at me and smiles.

“Thanks,” he says, punching my arm good-naturedly. “You too.”

I wait, my stomach rumbling with nervousness, for about twenty minutes. Then, Fortis says, “Thesia Cudrow,” and I stand up. I go into the training center, take a deep breath, and scan the room. The Gamemakers are sitting at a long table laden with food and drink. I notice one man with red cheeks who has obviously already had too much to drink, but most of the others are still relatively alert and interested. I stand up straight and walk toward the knives. From their box I take the one I practiced with on the first day, a light, dark handle with a smooth blade, six inches long. It feels comfortable in my hand, like it was made to be there. I smile and look at the targets. Then, before even positioning myself, I throw it.

It misses the bullseye by about two inches. I shrug it off – I’m only warming up right now. Not that I’ll have time to warm up in the arena, but…I run and fetch the knife, then reposition myself and throw it again.

Bullseye.

With a small grin of triumph, I fetch the knife again. I repeat this three more times, more or less hitting the bullseye, and decide I should move on to more interesting things. I duel with one of the assistants and manage to fling the knife from his hand, but only after he’s hit me several times with his dull knife. After that, I pick the six-inch blade up again and go to the nearest dummy, making sure the Gamemakers have a good view of me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself, and run at the dummy like it’s about to kill me.

In about ten seconds I’ve as good as disemboweled it, stabbed it in three different places, and beheaded the thing. There is a silence that I hope means shock, but I’m too scared to look back at the Gamemakers to notice. For the next few minutes, I skewer another dummy with a spear and run over the edible foods test without blinking an eye.

When I stop, I look at the Gamemakers. Most of them are watching me, some more keenly than others. A few, including the drunken man, are devouring some sort of pie that has just arrived. I square my jaw and try not to lose my temper at them. Is food really more important than watching me try to impress them? I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white.

Phineas Bracksberry, the Head Gamemaker, catches my eye and says, “You are dismissed, Miss Cudrow.”

I incline my head towards him. “Thank you, sir,” I say, and walk out of the room. It is the first time I have ever ridden on an elevator by myself, and strangely enough I find it claustrophobic. The thick, clear walls of crystal have me trapped and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve heard that crystal is harder than rock, that if I fall it won’t break into a million shards like glass. I’ll be stuck in the elevator until someone finds me and pulls me out.

I’m only too glad to get out once the doors slide open.

I hear voices coming from the sitting room and immediately recognize Aeolus’ trilling laugh. I close the door and the voices stop. “Thesia, is that you?” Aeolus asks. His head sticks out of the doorway.

“Yes,” I answer, walking toward him. When I reach the sitting room, I see Clover sitting in an armchair and Pius spread out across the couch like he usually is. Assuming the other armchair in the room has been claimed by Aeolus, I go over to the couch and budge Pius’ legs to move. They do so, but just barely, and I fall into the couch with a sigh.

“So,” Clover says, leaning forward and looking at me. Aeolus takes his place in the armchair and crosses his legs. “How was it?”

I shrug. “Alright, I suppose. We just have to wait and see what they give me.”

“Yes, but what did you show them?”

I’m a little shocked by Clover’s question. I mean, what goes on in the Training Center is strictly kept a secret from the rest of the nation. “Am I supposed to tell you that?” I ask.

“Not technically,” he says, throwing his hand in an offish manner, “and only if you want to.”

It’s a good enough reason for me. They’ll all find out sooner or later, I have no doubt. “Alright, then,” I say. “First off, I threw a knife at some targets. I got four bullseye’s and one that was close enough. I sparred with an assistant and did pretty well. I dismembered a dummy in ten seconds with a four-inch-long knife. Then I killed another dummy with a spear and passed the edible foods test without batting an eye.” I shrug again. “Probably not the best I could have done, but scores don’t really matter, do they?”

While Aeolus looks a little impressed at my meager feats, Clover sighs and says, “No, but the higher the score you have the more likely you can be to get sponsors.” After a slight, awkward pause he says, “Well, you both tried your best – and you’ll no doubt prove yourselves in the arena.”

“Do you really believe that?” The words, biting and harsh, slip out of my mouth before I can even think about them, but in the silence that follows I know it’s what I had to say. My temper is still roiling inside my chest, ready to snap out again if provoked. The other three inhabitants of the room stare at me.

After a minute, my mentor sighs and says, “Yes, Thesia, I do.”

I don’t reply. The air in the room becomes thick and heavy. A wave of spite crashes over me, aiming itself at Clover. I know it’s unfair to be mad at him, the mentor who has done nothing but help and encourage me, but the more I let my thoughts stir, the more bitter anger wells up inside of me. Everything about this whole situation is unfair. It’s unfair that I have to fight to the death in an arena. It’s unfair that, if I make it far enough, I’ll have to kill those I’ve befriended to win. To see my family again. Which I won’t, because there is no possible way that, pitted against those Careers, even against Olivia or Pius, I could come out the victor. Before I know it, tears are pouring out of my eyes. I recoil on the sofa, burying my face, and cry.

Someone wraps their arms around me. I can tell by the awkward positioning and long, lanky arms that it is Pius. I want to tell him to stop, that this comforting gesture will only make it harder to fight each other in the arena.

This bitter reminder sends revulsion down my spine. I shrug his arm away and stand up.

“See you at dinner,” I mumble as I leave the room.


	6. The Last Day

When we sit down for dinner, my stomach rumbles but I don’t have any appetite. “Parsnips, Thesia?”Kallias asks, passing me the plate. I look down at the colorless dish with a pinched face and force myself to eat more than necessary.

“Are you nervous about the scoring?” Aglaea asks. She and Kallias have not heard how our scoring sessions went; naturally, they’d be curious, but I don’t want to talk about it. My initial feelings of hope and optimism have been replaced with doubt and the thought that I was the worst of all twenty-four tributes.

“Not as nervous as curious,” Pius says quietly. “But still as nervous as hell.”

Aeolus chuckles as though we have said something incredibly entertaining and tries to reassure us by saying, “Well, even if you get a zero it won’t matter once you’re in the arena – unless of course, you deserved it.”

After we have all eaten our fill, we gather in the sitting room to watch the scores broadcasted across all of Panem. I am holding the sheet of paper with the tribute’s information on it, pencil poised to write down their scores as well. Even if it won’t help me much, it gives me something to do. My dinner threatens to come back up when the national anthem starts playing and the face of Glass Dabney appears on the screen. He manages to pull an eight. Next comes Sylkie, and the sight of her makes my stomach turn. Even though it is a simple headshot she still looks gorgeous, fierce, and incredibly dangerous. A bright, shiny nine flashes below her picture. I sigh. It’s not as good as she could have done – probably not the best score there will be – but she still managed to do better than I am going to.

Numbers flash by, a few more interesting than others – Otto’s ten, Matthias’ four – and then Pius’ face is shining on the screen, oddly handsome and aloof for such a casual picture. A nine, a nearly unbelievable nine, flashes under his name. I stare at him, my mouth open, and ask, “What did you _do_?”

“Shh.” He holds his finger up to his lips and points at the screen. My picture is there now, plain, boring little me. I close my eyes, my knuckles white, and open them to see a 6 blinking under my name.

“A six.” My words are as toneless as a cave. “A lousy six.” I don’t believe it. I could have done better – much, much better. But I couldn’t show off my skills, and now the Gamemakers had graced me with a half-mark, a fifty percent. The nervous fluttering of my heat seems to stop altogether as my face disappears and Linden’s appears. He gets a seven.

“Don’t feel bad, Thesia,” Pius says, scooting closer to me on the couch. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You scored higher than both tributes from three and five.”

“But…” I shake my head. I can’t explain my disappointment to them. “Never mind.” I look back at the screen and jot down _6_ next to Olivia’s name. That makes me feel a little better, because Olivia is easily the most cunning person in our group. _Numbers don’t matter_ , I tell myself. _Don’t be so disappointed._

My stomach sinks a little when Blaine gets a four and Ivy pulls a three. It is, after all, my fault we’ve allied with them. I don’t want them to be a burden we’re forced to carry – though I knew they probably would be, since they’re from twelve.

I congratulate Pius, a twinge of jealousy poking my gut, and head off to bed. It’s been a long day, and what I really need to do it sleep. I curl under the covers and close my eyes, but my mind is busier than it was at any point in the day. What did Pius do to get that nine? We’ve been talking about what we’ve learned for three days; we’re _allies_. I thought I knew most, if not all, of his tricks and skills. But there’s something he’s been keeping from even Clover, who looked just as surprised at his nine as anyone else. There _has_ to be, and it bugs me that I don’t know what it is.

As I finally drift off to sleep, a terrifying thought occurs to me.

Pius may now be my biggest enemy in the arena because he’s my closest friend.

***

The next morning, my eyes snap open to the sound of Aeolus saying, “Time to get up, Thesia! You’ve got a busy schedule today!”

I groan and sit up in bed. The sun is streaming in through my bedroom window, and I guess it’s about 7:30. Our interviews are taking place tomorrow night, and we get to spend all day preparing for that with Clover and Aeolus.

Oh joy.

I take as quick a shower as I can and take the liberty of slipping on a soft, flexible dress. It’s teal, my favorite color, and feels like it’s made out of the same material as pajamas. My hair goes in a high ponytail, which is how I often wear it at home. I feel lazy and low-maintenance today.

At breakfast, Aeolus goes over our schedule. Since Pius and I are being coached separately, I’ll have presentation with Aeolus for four hours in the morning, take a break for lunch, and be handed over to Clover for an equal amount of time. Pius will be doing the exact opposite. Though the prospect of spending four hours with Aeolus is not the most exciting thing, I’m glad we have him first. That way, if I get annoyed with him I’ll have Clover to go back to.

Aeolus and I go into my room, where he brandishes a floor-length gown and frighteningly high heels for me to wear. I nearly break my ankles just walking in the things – I can only hope Kallias is merciful and lets me wear more sensible shoes. And a shorter dress. Mine trails the floor, and several times I step on it and almost tumble to the floor. Aeolus reminds me that I must never lift my dress above my ankles – even then, only if I have to – so I push the boundaries as to how high my ankles are. Aeolus sighs but doesn’t say anything.

I’m also coached on such banal things as posture, gesticulation, and – most importantly – facial expression. Apparently, my mother, who always insisted her children stand up straight, did a mediocre job with me, because Aeolus actually gets a ruler and tapes it to my back for an hour. I try to do my best, but Aeolus works me so hard I’m surprised when he looks at his watch and says, “Well, look at the time! Are you hungry?”

Not really, but I nod and go to change. The tile floor seems like the most comfortable surface in the world when the heels are lying abandoned in the corner. I don’t even put on shoes before I leave the room to go eat lunch.

The next time I enter my room, it is with Clover. He and Pius had come out of the latter’s room talking jovially and even cracking the occasional joke – needless to say, I was looking forward to this much more. We sat down in the two armchairs in the room and looked at each other.

Finally, Clover crosses his arms and asks, “So, Thesia, you’ve seen enough interviews. How do you want yourself to be portrayed to all of Panem – especially potential sponsors?”

“I want to be…a more likable version of myself,” I say. “Funny, witty, friendly.”

Clover raises an eyebrow and says, “Then let’s try that. I can’t tell you how to answer the questions, or when to laugh or say something funny. You have to pay attention to every word Caesar Flickerman says and answer deliberately. Now, I’ll ask you a question and you answer it. What was your initial reaction when you heard your name being called?”

I cock my head to the side and think. What had my initial reaction been? The reaping seemed so long ago, even though it had only been six days ago, on Monday. So much had happened I could hardly remember how I had felt. Shock, certainly, and fear–

“Time,” Clover says quietly.

“What? But I haven’t even answered–”

“Exactly. Try not to think about a question for more than five, maybe ten seconds. That was a simple question – I could have asked you anything, many more that would have merited more thought. That’s something I’ve noticed about you.” He points at me accusingly. “You over think things.”

I want to scoff and be annoyed, but I know it’s true. I’m an awful conversationalist because I think everything over before a word slips out of my mouth. “Fine,” I say. “Ask me another question and I’ll answer you in a timely manner.”

“Good.” He thinks for only a moment and asks, “What has your impression of the Capitol been so far?”

I bite my lip. I want these people to like me, so I can’t say anything bad about it. “Well...” I pause. What has _my_ impression of the Capitol been? “They have lovely showers.”

Clover shakes his head. “This approach isn’t working,” he says. “’Lovely showers’? Thesia, you need to give me something more. You said you wanted to be witty. Try doing just that. What do you think of your stylist?”

Eventually, I get the hang of the witty thing, but everything I say is a last minute thought, and hardly any of it is true. So we try different approaches – sexy, which I’m too embarrassed to take seriously, superior, which makes me feel like a horrible person, quiet and shy, which makes me feel weak. None of them work. Finally, I tell Clover, “I just want to be likeable again.”

“Fine. Be likable when you answer this question. What exactly is your relationship with fellow District 6 tribute Pius Agrimony?”

I think, all the while counting to five. I already know the answer; I just have to say it properly. “He’s my brother’s best friend,” I say. “He has been for years; he’s always at our house, eating dinner with us or working on school. In some ways, he’s kind of like a brother to me. We’re…we’re a team. We will be until the end.”

Clover sits back in his chair, studying me. His piercing blue eyes are stolid behind his spectacles, and I’m afraid I’ve done a horrible job. But he says, “Answer every question like that and you’ll have so many sponsors buying your sob story you won’t want for anything.”

The next morning, my prep team wakes me up bright and early. Tullia’s silver skin seems to have been freshly shined, and the morning sun makes it nearly unbearable to look at her as she ushers me into the bathroom to take a shower. Then, I find a prep station set up in my room and turn myself over to my prep team.

It’s amazing how long it takes them to beautify me. I watch, mystified, as they dust the pale makeup back on my entire body, making my skin as smooth as an unblemished fruit, and tone my muscles with silver powder. The caduceus is reapplied on my right arm – I notice that it has the same appearance has Tullia’s skin – and my nails are rounded off again, having been chipped during training. They’re painted a simple steel gray. My team works on my face the longest, but I can only guess as to what they are doing. Then, Colombia puts my hair up in a loose twist at the nape of my neck, leaving one strand to fall down my face. Next, Kallias walks in with what can only be my dress. It’s covered by a protective bag, but he whips it out for me to see.

It’s the same color as my nails, steel gray, made of silk. When I slip it on, I notice boning in the bodice, but don’t know what to make of it until Kallias starts lacing it up the back, pulling it as tight as it will go. I grunt as the air is forced out of my lungs.

“What on earth–”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to breathe a little,” he says. “It’s corseted to give you curves – I’m trying to make you as appealing as possible.”

“Oh,” I gasp as he pulls the strings taut again. _Thanks, Kallias. I’ll be lucky if I don’t pass out during my interview._

When that is done, Acastus slips shoes on to my feet. They’re lower than the ones Aeolus put me in, but just barely. Between them and the corset I’ll be lucky to make it out of the interview alive. The same belt I wore on the chariot ride, silver snakes whose snouts meet in the middle of my abdomen, is clasped around my waist. Then, Tullia and Colombia fetch a full-length mirror so I can see myself. The dress is floor length, incredibly form-fitting until it hits my knees. From there, built-in boning makes it stand out about one foot from my legs, the hem of the dress barely trailing the floor. Due to the corset, I actually have a defined waist and cleavage. Seeing myself like that makes me a little uncomfortable, but there’s nothing I can do about it. The dress has one triangular strap that rests on my left shoulder, leaving my arms and right shoulder bare. The caduceus shimmers next to the fabric and my pale skin, and I have to admit the effect is quite breathtaking. It’s my face, though, that is the biggest surprise. My lips have been erased and redrawn so that they are fuller, rosy pink and glossy. My eyes are done the same as they were the night of the chariot ride – lined in thick black kohl and dusted with shimmering gray powder. My skin seems to emit a silvery glow. I’ve never felt so pretty – or self-conscious – in my life. A soft sigh escapes my lips and Kallias beams.

“I knew you would like it!” he says, clapping his hands together delightedly. “But come on, we have to get downstairs soon.”

With a little bit of help, I step off the platform and leave my quarters. As on the first night, Pius and his team are waiting for us by the elevators. Pius is wearing a brilliant gold suit with a black tie on which the caduceus glimmers. His hair has been highlighted with gold and sprayed back to look windswept, and his skin has been dusted with gold. Clover is standing next to the group, quietly waiting for us, but Aeolus is running around making last-minute checkups and correcting Pius and me.

“Stand up straight, Thesia!” he says, though I don’t know how I can possibly stand up any straighter. “Pius, don’t look quite so smug – you want the audience to _like_ you, remember?”

“Yes, Aeolus,” Pius sighs, winking at me. “Don’t you look pretty.”

A blush rises to my face, but I try to suppress my smile and say, “Thank you, Pi. You look quite dashing as well.” All day yesterday and today I’ve been thinking about Pius and his nine, and how that affects our relationship in the arena. It scares me that I really do care about him, because the more I like him the less chance there is I’ll be able to kill him.

We take the elevator down to the ground floor of the Training Center. A stage has been constructed in front of it, which is where the interviews will take place. The tributes are being lined up in district order, gaps left where two tributes are missing. Pius and I take our places – I’m stuck behind Matthias, who looks so nervous his face is green, but Pi at least has Olivia to smile at and exchange a few awkward pleasantries with. She is looking stunning in a forest green dress with gold accents – I notice when I glance back at her that her eyes are almost the same color green with gold flecks in them. Her hair has been taken out of its pigtail braids and smoothed away from her face, flowing down her back in brown waves.

We are shuffled onto the stage to sit in our places. The sight of the stage, sitting down in my chair, watching the other tributes perform their nervous habits – it’s making my own heart flutter a little. I’m scared that, when I am asked a question, I’ll overanalyze it. I won’t be funny enough when I answer. Or cute enough. Or smart enough. Or anything else I could potentially be. It’s incredibly difficult to breathe in the corset, and I start to worry I’ll have a panic attack onstage.

“Relax,” Pius whispers, placing a hand on my bare arm. “You’ll be great.”

I nod and look out into the crowds. Stadium lights make the arena seem like it’s midday, and I can clearly see the seating set out for important guests – Kallias is sitting in the front row with the other stylists, examining his fellows’ work and smiling down at me. In the apartments and buildings surrounding us, camera crews buzz, televising our every move to people sitting at home. Conscious of this, I try to look as pretty and pleasant as possible while I scan the crowds of Capitol citizens. The roads are so backed up I can’t make out individual faces, just an ocean of bodies chattering and waving at us. People pretending like they actually care about us or want us to acknowledge them.

I see Caesar Flickerman, the ageless interview host of the Hunger Games, step up onstage excitedly. His hair and makeup are a sickly-looking lemon yellow that matches his twinkling, midnight blue suit in true Capitol style but, grotesque as he looks, I feel a small pang of excitement. I’ve seen this man on TV for fifteen years – everyone knows who he is. And now I’m going to be interviewed by him.

If only that didn’t mean certain death.

He takes his place in his seat a few yards in front of us. The audience is still buzzing with excitement, but after a few jokes and well-placed remarks they are all his. He calls up Sylkie, who stands up gracefully and glides to the interview chair in a skintight, crimson gown. She sits as straight as a stick, answering ever questions demurely. Power seems to radiate from her as she smiles and laughs, going along with Caesar Flickerman’s jabs and making herself as irresistible as a smiling baby. I wish desperately that I could be like her – the Careers always seem to have it so easy in these interviews.

When her three minutes for the interview are up, she walks gracefully back to her seat as Glass takes her place.

I am drawn in by each and every interview, trying to take tips from everyone as they are interviewed. I couldn’t hope to be imposing, like both Arden and Otto are, and Dash and Byte seem as dull as an unsharpened knife. I’m gladder every time I encounter them that I haven’t taken them on as allies.

Before I know it, Matthias is sitting in the chair, answering questions. He is the jokester of the lot, laughing at himself and dropping as many jokes as Caesar Flickerman. But all too soon, his interview is over and “Thesia Cudrow, everyone!” is being called out to the audience. I stand up, taking in a deep, refreshing breath of air, and trying not to massage my aching ribs as I walk carefully towards the interview chair. My heart is now hammering in my chest and my every nerve is focused on not falling.

Caesar Flickerman rises and shakes my hand, then helps me sit down and leans back in his own chair, twiddling his thumbs and looking terribly excited to be interviewing the eleventh tribute.

“So, Thesia,” he says, smiling at me through his yellow lips, “I wasn’t supposed to ask this question until the very end, but I think all of Panem will agree with me when I say we’ve been dying to know exactly how well you know your fellow District 6 tribute Pius Agrimony – you certainly seemed a little more than friends on the night of the chariot ride.”

Time seems to slow as I smile. I can answer this question. It is almost the exact one Clover asked me that made a breakthrough in our progress. “Pius is my brother’s best friend,” I start, but the words seem oddly flat. Now I know that he is so much more to me than that, and I can’t say this if I’m not looking at him. Breaking all rules of decorum, I turn around in my chair and catch Pius’ eye. “He has been since before I can remember. He practically lives at our house sometimes – he’s watched me grow up, I’ve seen his awkward adolescence. He’s kind of like an older brother to me.” I scramble to remember the words I said to Clover in my room yesterday. “We’re a team. We will be until the end.”

Pius smiles at me as a collective sigh ripples through the audience. I turn back around, wincing when my corset digs into my waist, and let out a little gasp. Caesar leans forward and asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I say, using this moment to place a hand on my waist. I could use this as a propeller, a chance for laughs. “There’s a corset in my dress that makes it awfully hard to breathe – apparently I’m not busty enough for the cameras.”

In the crowd, someone wolf whistles and the audience laughs. I smile, winking in the general direction of the whistler, and let my arms rest on the chair’s arms again.

“Well, my dear, you look lovely tonight – I’m sure if you make it home the boys will be clambering up your doorstep.”

I laugh and shake my head, but can’t think of anything to reply. When more than five seconds of my silence have passed, Caesar asks, “Speaking of getting home, what do you think is the best advantage you have going into the arena?”

I actually have to think about this question. What will my best advantage be amongst this crowd of weapon-wielding beasts who could kill me so easily? But I could kill them easily, too, if only I had the right weapons. “I know twenty-five ways to kill people with a knife. I could tell you where all of your main arteries are. I could trace out the exact location and shape of your heart on your chest.”

Caesar Flickerman’s eyebrows have disappeared behind his purple bangs. “Very impressive, Miss Cudrow. Now, what is your driving force behind returning home?”

Another question I have to think about. My main driving force has, of course, been the necessity to stay alive – the fact that I’m not ready to die yet. But I’ve hardly allowed myself to even think about returning home, who I’ll hurt if I don’t. I think of all the people I know, all the things I want to do with my life, but my thoughts keep returning to one individual. “My older brother, Wart,” I answer. “We’re practically as close as two siblings can get. I love him so much – I don’t want anything to hurt him, but…”

“But he’s going to be hurt no matter what,” Caesar practically whispers. He is hamming my situation up for the audience, making those sponsors feel so sorry for my brother they’ll have no choice but to shower me with gifts, and for that I am grateful. I nod and continue.

“And so when Pius was called, I told myself that I would do everything in my power to get one of us home to Wart.”

Again, there is a collective sigh as the audience, a few wiping their eyes as though crying, mourns my miserable life. Then, a buzzer sounds and my time is up. Caesar Flickerman helps me stand up and shakes my hand again, saying, “I’m afraid we have to stop. But good luck to you, Thesia Cudrow, District 6 tribute.”

There is applause, for which I am grateful, though it is not overlong or uproarious. Then Pius appears beside me, giving my hand a conspicuous squeeze as we pass each other. The clapping is renewed, louder this time, and Caesar has to calm everyone down before he can jokingly ask, “Well, well – applause before you’ve even been interviewed! Didn’t expect that, did you, Mr. Agrimony?”

Pius goes through his interview like he’s been trained for it his entire life. His handsome features have been magnified by his prep team’s ministrations, and I can almost hear the crowd buzzing about him. They’ll love Pius for sure; it’s impossible not to. He has taken on the role of charming boy next door, answering the questions Caesar throws at him with almost as much ease as Sylkie. They actually get quite chummy before the buzzer goes off and it’s Olivia’s turn.

The interviews continue for what seems like hours, though they’re really only about an hour and fifteen minutes long. I do my best not to tap my fingers on my lap like I’m prone to do when I get bored, but it isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Sometimes, the interviews are entertaining or enthralling, but most of the time they’re average, level, and plain. When Blaine stands up for the last time, I heave a silent sigh of relief and stand for the national anthem. I watch the cameras target each and every tribute, resting on some – like Sylkie and Pius – longer than others.

After the final note of the anthem has been played, the tributes hurry back into the Training Center. I get separated from Pius but manage to land in a car with Linden, Blaine, and the two tributes from 11. The poor girl stands off to the side, stroking her bandaged arm and not saying anything. I feel a stab of pain for her, but shrug it aside and look at my allies.

“A job well done, gentlemen,” I say conversationally, smiling at them.

“And you,” Blaine says. He scratches his tattooed face and adds, “I will never understand how Capitol citizens can wear so much makeup all the time.”

“It’s probably in their blood,” Linden murmurs, “the same way they can watch children fight to the death on live TV for entertainment.”

No one answers him. The elevator doors slide open and I see the hallway of my quarters, Pius looking at himself in the mirror until he notices us and blushes. I glance back at the inhabitants of the elevator, open my mouth to say something, and think better of it. With a slight twist in my gut I realize that the next time I see any of these people, we will be in the arena.

Sensing my hesitation, Linden inclines his head but remains silent. I twist my mouth up in a pseudo smile and step out of the elevator, my hand involuntarily jerking in an awkward, half-hearted wave. The doors clank shut and the tributes are blocked from sight.

“Are you alright?” Pius asks, reaching his hand out and resting it on my arm. Instinctively, I stiffen. His hand doesn’t move, and for a moment I think he hasn’t noticed. But then I catch his eyes and see that he has – he looks hurt.

“I’m sorry, Pi,” I say wearily. “It’s just…in that elevator…It may be the last time we see those people alive. We’ll be in the arena in sixteen hours, maybe less.” I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes, and an awful realization comes to me. “I wish I were dead.”

Pius pulls me into a tight hug, the curve of his thin cheek fitting the top of my head perfectly. I wrap my arms around him, sighing, and wish I could stay in his warm embrace forever. I can feel his heart beating against the hollow of my throat, his breath tickling my hair. But I know this can’t last. I force myself to pull away and look at him shyly. “I need to change out of this cage,” I say, flashing him a solemn smile. He nods, biting his lip, and turns away. His eyes seem to have been imprinted in my memory, twinkling down at me so sadly I’m afraid the tears I’m barely managing to hold back will splash onto my cheeks in a torrent.

I kick my shoes off in the hall and scramble for my room, even when the elevator doors click open and the voices of our entourage are calling out to me. Once inside, I fumble with the ties on my dress until I’m released with a gush of air entering my lungs. This freedom feels better than anything I could hope for. I gasp in air like I almost drowned, letting the dress slide down my body and hurrying into the bathroom. The tile feels delightfully cold on my sore, bare feet and I massage them into the floor, closing my eyes for a moment. I’m already feeling just a shade better, but despite the cold air that flows unconstricted into my lungs my throat feels tight and painful. I’m not used to these sudden mood swings that the Hunger Games has brought upon me, and deep down I feel foolish. I shouldn’t be crying like a child. I should be preparing, planning, resting. I swallow all emotion and turn the shower on, stepping into the warmth and letting it envelope me.


	7. The Launch

After dinner, I head straight back to my room and throw on nightclothes. It’s still fairly early, but I’m going to be getting up early tomorrow anyway. I need as much sleep as I can get.  
But when I lay my head down on the pillow, the fabric suffocates me. I can’t get comfortable. I toss and turn for hours, trying desperately to fall asleep, and finally rise. Outside, lights are shining brightly – people celebrating the start of the Hunger Games, no doubt. I press my head to the cool glass, watching the movement seven floors below. I wonder how they watch the TV twenty-four hours a day – how they don’t go to sleep in case they miss a crucial part. In the Districts, there’s a nightly recap much like the ones the children watch during lunch time at school, but I highly doubt the citizens of the Capitol would be willing to do that.  
With a bitter grunt I move away from the window and open my bedroom door. As I expected, there’s no one in the hall. It’s late – midnight, probably – and everyone else is asleep.  
I stop in the middle of the hall, not really sure why I came out here. There’s nothing to do except sit and think – I would be more entertained in my room, but the thought of going back in there makes me shiver. It’s too confined for me, almost too familiar.  
“Thesia?” someone asks behind me. I whip my head around and start. Clover is standing in his doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He has his glasses on but his hair is rumpled. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, walking over to me. “Did I startle you?”  
“A little,” I admit, wrapping my arms over my chest. “I thought I would be the only one awake.”  
He smiles and shakes his head. “I can never sleep the night before the Games start.”  
“Too many memories?” I ask softly. I don’t know anything about Clover’s time in the arena – I was only a few years old when he won, but from what I understand it was one of the more brutal Games.  
Clover shakes his head. “I’ve come to terms with all of that – at least, as much as I’ll ever be able to. It’s just…I’m worried for you and Pius.” He sighs. “I always am. But why are you awake?”  
I squish my toes into the carpet and watch the floor. Clover’s words are touching – they’re probably the kindest thing he’s said to me yet. “My mind was too busy to sleep, and night time is the best time to think.” He grins and straightens up, presumably to go back to his room. “Clover,” I start, glancing at him sideways, “two days ago, when you told me I would prove myself in the arena – did you believe it? Do you?”  
It takes a long time for him to answer. I start to fear he’ll say no, he never believed in me – he’ll be surprised if I make it past the first day. But he answers, “I do. Thesia…” He takes my arm and leads me into the sitting room. It’s very dark in there despite the light still streaming in from the parties below. It’s a little chilly as well – I hadn’t noticed the temperature of my room or the hall before. No wonder I felt so trapped. Clover lets go of me and I lean against a couch back, watching his face. The contrast of his angular face and the harsh light makes him look eerie and hostile. “Thesia, when I first laid eyes on you, I thought there was no way in hell you’d get very far in the Games. But as I got to know you better, the more I began to think you could actually do it.” He walks over to the window and stares out at the purple sky. I can’t see any stars through the window, unlike at home where they twinkle with abandon. “You’re smarter than you think you are. Calculating. Meticulous. But you’re brave too.”  
I snort. “No I’m not. I cry every time I think about going into the arena.”  
He shrugs. “It’s a natural reaction. But Thesia, believe me when I say that if you play your cards right and don’t let anything – and I repeat, anything – get the better of you, you have a chance of winning the Games. More so than Pius. He’s strong, yes, and he got an unbelievably high score in training, but he’s softer than you are.” Again, I make an indignant noise, but Clover barrels on. “You are friendly – maybe too friendly, sometimes – but you know that you have to put everything behind you and survive.”  
Knowing full well he can’t see me, I frown at his back and ask, “How do you know that? I could be planning on sacrificing myself for Pi right now–”  
“You remind me of myself when I was your age.” He turns around and catches my eye. “You’re everything I was and more.”  
I don’t say anything to that. Clover seems so calm and collected, so bright and playful. It doesn’t sound right, because I am none of these things. Yes, we’re both smart and good at making plans and sure, some of the stuff he says sounds like it could have come out of my mouth. But Clover has only known me for a week. How could he possibly tell in that short period of time if we are alike? “Why are you telling me all of this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll get a big head – I mean, you’re basically saying I have a high chance at winning this…this…”  
He laughs and shakes his head, cutting off my doubtful words. “No, Thesia. I know that you’ll take these words to heart and remember everything I’ve told you, but not let it distract you.”  
How are you so certain? I want to ask him. It’s true, though. It’s what I’ve always done. I don’t take praise lightly, because praise doesn’t prove anything. So I bite back my words and stare down at the rug, where my bare toes poke into the soft, itchy material and make dents in the colorful design. I hear Clover leave the window and walk over to me. He stops a few feet away, and when I look up he is silhouetted by the light from outside. His glasses flash every time he moves.  
“Is there anything you want to know before tomorrow?” he asks solemnly. “Any last words of advice?”  
I sigh and try to think of something to ask him, for surely any information he could give me would be invaluable in the weeks to come. Wracking my brain for whatever has bothered me most, whatever question I’ve been meaning to ask, I find the right one. “How do you keep your emotions in check?”  
He moves next to me and leans on the couch. “That’s not an easy question to answer, Thesia,” he says reluctantly, “and I can’t answer it for you. But when I was in the arena, staying strong was everything to me – I knew that, without a real mentor, it was the best I could do. So every time something bad happened, every time I was nearly killed or had my supplies destroyed, I would back up against something, close my eyes, and count to ten.” He smiles and looks at me. “Looking back, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do – it only takes about ten seconds for someone to find you and skewer you with a spear. But it calmed me down.”  
I nod. The method is familiar to me, but I had no idea it could help in such a dire situation. However, there was something he didn’t mention. The thing I’m the most afraid of. “But what about…what about when your district teammate was killed?” I don’t know if it will help – I have no idea how close they were, only that he wanted to avenge her death. But I can’t help thinking about Pius. If he dies, I may very well go over the edge.  
Clover is silent for a long time. Finally, he sighs and says, “I only knew Perilla a little before the Games. Nothing like–” He stops abruptly and shakes his head. I can tell he doesn’t want to upset me by saying anything about Pius.  
“Like me and Pi,” I say for him. “Go on.”  
“We allied with a girl from District Five, so the three of us got to know each other a little bit. But Perilla was special, because she was my one link back home. Then, one day, there were ten of us left in the arena. The girl from Five, Alana, had been acting shifty and irritable. I knew she was about to end our alliance and convinced Perilla to leave with me. We ran off in the middle of the night and heard the cannon go off a few hours later. Of course, we had no idea who had died, but Perilla was convinced it was Alana and that whoever had killed her was tracking us. We tried to hide, but the remaining Careers found us – well, her, really. We were hiding a few feet away from each other. The boy from Two sliced Perilla open and ran off with the others. At first, I was so shocked I couldn’t move, but the hovercraft was waiting for me to leave so it could pick Perilla up. So I took the necklace off of her and ran off. I was still so numb – the only other thing I could feel was anger towards that boy. But I told myself I couldn’t do anything until that night. In the late afternoon, I found a little cave where I could sleep – I was exhausted, I hadn’t slept in twenty hours – so I curled up and hid my face. Only then did I let myself cry. I didn’t even look at the sky that night to see if Alana was dead. It was only when I found her with her sword pointed at my throat the next morning did I realize my mistake.” Again, he sighs. “So I sliced her leg with my knife and killed her while she was still on the ground.”  
Clover is no longer giving me advice on how to cope with my errant emotions, but now I realize why he has been so skeptical about our choice to ally with kids from other districts. We sit there in silence for a few minutes before Clover speaks up again. “You should go to bed, Thesia. You need all the rest you can get.”  
I nod and stand up. “Clover…” I cross my arms and look at him. “When you get back to District 6, tell my family I love them.”  
He smiles at me sadly. “Only if you don’t get home, too.” He walks towards me and wraps me up in a hug. It’s the first time he’s touched me that closely. I hug him back, glad for this last bit of human affection. “Good luck, Thesia.”  
I bury my face in his shoulder for just a moment before forcing myself to pull away. “Thanks, Clover.” I look at his face one last time, memorizing all of its lines, the curve of his glasses, the way they make small indentations on his high cheekbones. Then I turn away and hurry to my bedroom, where the warmth of the blankets, now inviting, lulls me into a deep, turbulent sleep.

In the morning, Kallias wakes me up with a slight shake of my shoulder. My eyes pop open and I’m only tired for a moment before I realize today is the day.  
The forty-ninth annual Hunger Games are about to begin.  
I change into a thin, white shift that Kallias hands to me and run a brush through my hair. When I set the brush back, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. All of the makeup from last night has been washed away, but I can almost see the traces of it left. My lips seem plumper than a week ago, which I know isn’t possible – but still. If I cover up my mouth and ignore my pale, white skin and the circles under my eyes…I’m pretty.  
But why on earth am I thinking about this now? Kallias knocks on the door of the bathroom and says, “Thesia, not to rush you, but we need to get to the hovercraft.”  
That sets my heart to racing and I think I’m going to be sick. Remembering Clover’s words from last night, I close my eyes, count to ten, and open them again. Thesia stares back at me, her blue eyes wide but reassured. I’m still scared out of my wits, but controllably so. I send Clover silent thanks as I leave the bathroom and follow Kallias to the roof. I half-hope I’ll run into Pius, but a voice in the back of my head tells me it won’t help anything. I need to keep my head as long as possible.  
Once we’re on the roof, a hovercraft appears over our heads and lets a ladder fall from its belly. Kallias tells me to step onto it. Expecting to have to hold on for dear life, I’m surprised that the moment I’m situated on the rungs my nerves and muscles are frozen. Then, I’m pulled up into the hovercraft. Almost immediately, a man in a white coat appears holding a wicked-looking syringe. My eyes widen and my stomach flip-flops – I hate shots more than anything – but I’m still glued to the ladder. As if sensing my sudden fear, the man pats my shoulder.  
“Relax, Thesia. It’ll only last a second. This is your tracker that will last you through the Games.” He situates the needle on my arm and pushes the tracker underneath the skin. I gasp, my eyes tearing up at the sudden pain, and am grateful when the ladder releases me. Instinctively, I reach out to touch the still-painful bump on my arm but the man swats my hand back. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” he warns. “It’ll only make it hurt worse.”  
He smiles swiftly and leaves the room. The ladder goes down again, and when it appears Kallias has been frozen to its surface. As soon as he is released, a young man – one of those servants who never talks – appears and leads us to a room. There is a table in the middle of it laid out with too much food for two people. It is the same sort of food we ate every other day at breakfast, but now it tastes like dirt in my mouth. My nervous stomach protests every time I take a bite. I force myself to eat, not too much – I don’t want to get a cramp if I’m forced to run – but enough to where I feel sufficiently full. After I’ve eaten, I entertain myself by watching the scenery pass us by. We’re headed north, I think, because the mountaintops gradually get snowier. The ride seems to last forever, but when the windows black out I wish it would go on forever. Black windows mean we’re nearing the arena. I try to stop myself from trembling as I step away from my window perch, but at this point it’s useless. I’m shaking like a leaf and nothing can stop me.  
After a few minutes, the hovercraft lands and the same young man directs us back to the ladder. I am let down first, down a long tunnel and into a small, iron gray room. In the districts, this room is affectionately referred to as the Stockyard, though no one except the tributes have ever been inside one. I look around the last bit of humanity I will probably ever see with a grim set to my mouth. It’s a small room, made entirely of metal, probably forty nine feet square. I’ve landed on a small, raised dais which I assume will lead me up to the arena. There are two doors in the room, one on my right side and one on my left. A small chair, presumably for the stylist, has been placed by a hook where my clothes will hang soon. There are no windows, no sign of friendliness.  
A buzzing noise overhead tells me I need to step out of the way of the ladder. When Kallias appears, he directs me to the bathroom that hides behind one of the doors. Here I take a shower and brush my teeth one last time, then for the novelty of it brush them again. I probably won’t ever taste that minty, spicy paste again.  
After this is done, Kallias brushes my hair first into a half-up-do, and then connects that with the rest of my hair. The result is a sturdy ponytail that will hopefully keep much hair from falling into my face.  
Then the clothes arrive in a bag. I take in a deep breath – this will reveal what kind of conditions I can expect. Almost ceremonially, Kallias unzips the bag and hands me basic underclothes. I slip them on hastily, still not totally comfortable with him seeing me naked, and wait while he pulls out the rest of my outfit.  
First up is a white long-sleeved shirt and matching pants. Kallias fingers the material, examining its every pore, until he says, “It’s a thermal fabric, so I’d expect some freezing nights. Maybe days, too.” He hands me these articles to put on and goes back into the bag, pulling out something that appears to be a thick, white snowsuit.  
“I’m guessing that means definitely days, too,” I say as I pull the pants on.  
Kallias nods. “I’d be very surprised if there’s not snow in the arena – and a lot of it.” He gives me the snowsuit to put on. There’s a plastic-coated zipper running the length of the torso, so I unzip it and step inside. Every time the fabric brushes against itself, it makes a gravelly noise. Great; I’ll be a danger to myself every time I move. There’s a hood attached to the nape of the neck, but I’m already feeling hot between the suit and the thermal clothes, so I decide to wait to put that on. Next, Kallias hands me a pair of white boots with black soles and thick thermal socks. The boots fit perfectly – they’re still a little stiff, though – and I can feel the spiky soles that will be perfect for grabbing onto snow. The final items in the bag are a pair of slender white gloves, made of the same material as the suit.  
“You’re almost done,” Kallias says. He pulls the silver necklace from one of his pockets and motions for me to turn around so he can attach it. We had handed over our tokens at the start of training so they could be evaluated to make sure they couldn’t be used as a weapon. I thought it was a little silly that Pius and I had to hand ours over – after all, they’d been used in the Games for years – but I’m just glad to have it back. It seems strange, but I almost missed this little bit of metal while it was separated from me.  
Now that I’m done dressing, I look down to examine myself. The snowsuit isn’t at all bulky, but it’s stifling. I hope it proves to be perfect for the outside conditions, because I don’t think I could stand wearing it for long if I got too hot.  
I pace the room while we wait for the call that signals my entrance into the arena. Kallias hands me a deliciously cold glass of water and a strip of dried jerky to chew on until the time comes. I eat slowly but deliberately, hoping to retain every precious piece of protein stored in this slice of meat. Soon, though, my throat begins to feel like glue and I have to stop. The jerky sticks in my throat and I cannot seem to force it down.  
In just a few minutes I will be sent to my death. The thought is terrifying. How am I going to do this? How could I possibly hope to defeat those kids from 1 and 2? Last this first day? I was a fool to even think I could make it.  
“Thesia?” Kallias asks, obviously concerned. I look at him for a second, then turn away and fill my glass with more water. My hand is shaking so hard the water sloshes over the side of the glass. Clover’s face pops into my head, the way it looked last night, giving me that advice. Close your eyes and count to ten.  
I’ve only reached six when a voice, soothing and utterly feminine – much too nice, in my opinion – says, “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for launch.”  
I freeze. Launch.  
I’m about to die.  
Kallias flips my hood up over my head, secures it closed, and places a comforting hand on my back before leading me to the dais.  
“You’ll be amazing, Thesia,” he tells me, like I’m about to compete in a friendly school competition. “I’ll be rooting for you.”  
I smile sadly and take his hand. This final touch of human comfort calms me, until a glass cylinder forces us apart and my overwhelming nerves come back. I start rising, and I get one last look at Kallias’ face. Then, I’m being raised into the arena. My heart beats forty-two times in the short span it takes for me to disappear from the Stockyard and into the arena.  
The first thing I notice is a blinding white light from the sun glaring off of thick, bright snow. Before I can get a good look at my surroundings, though, a freezing gust of wind hits me square in the side. It’s so powerful I have to force myself onto all fours and hang onto the sides on the platform where I’m standing to prevent myself from being blown away.  
“Hit the deck!” Matthias from 5 yells, and no one hesitates to oblige.  
Except for the little boy from 8. He’s standing next to me and the wind, strong enough to knock someone twice his size over, catches his hood and sends him sprawling into the snow. He’s been laying there for only a second when the land mines go off, blowing him into thousands of tiny, bright red bits.  
I stare, horrified, as the voice of Claudius Templesmith cuts into the silence. Even he sounds shaken, like this was the last thing he expected, as he says, “Ladies and gentlemen…let the forty-ninth annual Hunger Games begin.”


	8. The Arena

_I need to collect my wits_. That’s all I can think as the smoke clears. Hayden had been standing next to me, and some of the smoke hits my face like choking smog. _I need to collect my wits._

I take a deep breath and make sure the wind has calmed a little before standing up again. I am shaken from the gust that knocked us all over. My legs are wobbly and I rest my forearms on my knees to steady myself as I inspect my surroundings. At first, all I see is white. Everything is blindingly white; I can hardly keep my eyes open. Wind whips at my face; it blows my ponytail around to sting my neck and eyes. As the slow seconds pass, my pupils contract and I become used to the glaring world around me.

The other tributes are in various stages of recovery. Some, like Sylkie, are already standing, looking calm and collected. The girl from 11 is wincing in pain, staring at her broken arm like she wants to cut it off and cry at the same time. I glance away from her and look around me. Yards away lies the Cornucopia, glinting in the sun and resting atop a fifteen foot tall crag. I force myself not to look at the treasures that lie in wait, knowing that if I get too close a glimpse of the good in store I’ll go after one. But that wasn’t part of the plan. I need to look for Pius.

Everywhere I can see there is snow. All around me, starting probably 50 yards from the Cornucopia, is a dense, gray forest. Through it cuts a river, frozen over. My eyes follow the river and see that it stretches almost all the way around the ring of tributes. Hills rise behind me and to my right, obscuring part of the forest from view. Gradually, the rocky, tree covered hills turn into a rocky, tree covered mountain. Miles away to my right, the mountain cuts up to form a cliff, so steep and treacherous I can’t imagine anyone climbing it.

Now that I have explored my surroundings, I look for Pius. There’s a jolt in my stomach when at first I can’t find him, but with a quick second glance around the circle I pinpoint him standing three spots away from me on my left side. Blaine stands two people away from him, and Olivia is on my immediate right. Linden and Ivy are on the complete opposite side of the circle.

There can only be a few seconds left in this agonizing wait. Still avoiding the Cornucopia, I look right in front of me and spot a pair of sunglasses about five feet away. Though they will count for nil in the survival department, I know immediately I’ll run for them. My big, light blue eyes are already starting to ache in the blinding light. I shift myself to dart in, grab the glasses, and run toward Pius, wishing I had thought to count the seconds. Around me, I sense the other tributes preparing themselves as well.

And then the gong goes off. Next to me, Olivia dashes toward the Cornucopia with a speed I didn’t know she possessed. Everyone else is either closing in or running away as well, and I launch myself off of the platform. While I’m still suspended in the air, I think about how awful it would be if my land mines had malfunctioned, if they were still on, waiting to blow me apart–

But then I land and run for the glasses. I grab them and take a quick look back at the Cornucopia. Kenzie from 4 and the boy from 10 have already reached the pile of goodies, and Olivia is hard on their tail. No one is paying attention to me.

“Thesia!” Pius yells. It’s a short, clipped shout, meant to get my attention more than warn me. My eyes snap to him, standing at the near edge of the river. Blaine is about to reach him, holding something I can’t make out in his hands. I start running toward them, skirting around my platform and giving Hayden’s a wide arc. Blood stains the snow and ground and I can see parts of his body strewn around. It’s a sickening sight, and as I run, my stomach gives a nauseated lurch.

My boots make the snow crunch as I dash for Pius and Blaine. As I feared, my suit makes a low, scratching noise every time my arms brush against my torso or my legs clap together. When I reach them, I barely have time to stop and put my glasses on before Pius says, “Let’s get out of here,” and takes off across the ice. The top layer has been coated in snow, minimizing the slick, and it looks thick enough to hold us, so I follow him. I go more slowly than Pius, planning out my every step and making sure I don’t fall. Blaine follows close behind me, swearing occasionally as he trips, but all three of us make it to the other side in safety. Then, Pius jerks his head toward the forest and starts walking toward it. His pace is brisk but not fast, and we are able to keep up with him without much difficulty. The sounds of the bloodbath can still be heard, but we don’t dare look back and see if anyone is pursuing us. We are unarmed, and even that girl with the broken arm could be a threat to us if she got her hands on a weapon.

We walk for about a minute. Then, I put a hand on Pius’ shoulder. “Pi, if we walk any further the others won’t be able to find us.”

He looks surprised, like he had totally forgotten about the three other members of our group, and glances at Blaine. “All right,” he says, letting out a great breath. “But let’s get out of sight before we come across anyone else.”

“I don’t know about out of sight,” Blaine says, examining the trees surrounding us, “but we could definitely get out of reach.”

Pius frowns. “Are you suggesting we _climb_ the _tree_?” he asks incredulously. Blaine nods calmly.

“Unless you have a better idea…”

“I like it,” I say, and it’s true. I can’t think of a safer place we could be right now. Of course, being in the branches of a tree with no weapons has its downsides, but it would at least make our situation better in the short term. “Come on, Pi. It’s just until the others get back.”

“ _If_ they get back,” he mutters, but makes his way toward the tree nearest Blaine nonetheless. “Alright, tree boy, show us how it’s done.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and starts climbing the tree, pushing himself up using the lowest branch and scrambling up until he rests twenty feet above our heads. “Come on,” he says, his voice muffled so no one else can hear him. “It’s a nice view.”

I go up the tree after him and, when I’m ten feet up in the air, look down to make sure Pius is following me. With a wave of relief I see that he is standing directly below me, so I continue up to Blaine. He smiles at me when I reach him; he’s already found a comfortable spot to sit back in. I go up one more branch, which is only about a foot higher up than him, and do the same. It’s remarkably comfortable for sitting in a tree, and I finally have time to take in my surroundings.

The forest looks like something out of a winter fairyland. It is even darker than it appeared from the outside – so dark, in fact, that I have to take my glasses off and stow them in my snowsuit. There are many kinds of trees in the forest – oaks, maples, pines, and the like, thick, solid, and moss covered. All of them look like they are upwards of five hundred years old. Their branches stretch out like wicked, wizened arms. Some are covered in snow, but the leaves above our heads are so thick that not much of the stuff has fallen through. There’s no snow on the ground. Instead, it’s damp, dark brown dirt with lightly scattered leaves. Fog curls around the bases of the trees.

As I sit in our tree, hardly daring to breathe, I begin to realize just how cold it is. Every time I exhale my breath comes out in little puffs, and my extremities are starting to hurt. I hadn’t noticed it before because the warm snowsuit protected my body. We have weather like this in District 6 during wintertime, but the snow never sticks around. I haven’t actually ever seen the stuff packed in as thick as it is outside the forest.

It is also eerily quiet.

We wait in silence for what seems like hours, though I have no idea what time it is because the trees block the sun. During that time we only see one other person dash by us. It’s a little hard to tell who it is because they’re almost entirely covered by the snowsuit, but the figure looks like a boy.

“Who–?” I start to ask.

“I think it’s that boy from Five,” Pius whispers. So Matthias has made it out of the bloodbath alive.

Of course, so have I. I marvel at this while we wait in silence. I made it through the bloodbath without so much as a scratch – without so much as a glance my way, even. In the dim light, I smile to myself and think of Clover’s words.

 _You’re all I was and more_.

After we’ve been sitting long enough for my legs to start cramping and I’ve taken a short nap, a tall, quiet figure appears under us. He’s not moving fast, more like searching around, and when his face turns toward us I see that it is Linden. Strapped on his back is a bright yellow backpack with a hopeful bulge to its pouch, and he appears to be carrying another large black bag, a long, thin thing that could only be a sword, and a white plastic box. There are splatters of blood on his white suit, but the only visible injury I can see is a shallow cut on his cheek.

“Linden!” I whisper loudly enough for him to hear.

He looks up, startled, and smiles. Then, wordlessly, he motions for Pius to catch as he tosses up the black bag. It lands in Pius’ hands with a slight, sturdy gush of air. He smiles and says, “I believe we’ve found ourselves a sleeping bag.”

“Not that it will help much seeing as it’s black and we’re, you know, surrounded by snow,” Blaine mutters. I look back to Linden and see that he has finished zipping his backpack up, and that the white box is gone. The sword pokes out of it precariously, but it’s the best he can do. He swings it back on and starts climbing the tree. After about a minute he’s sitting next to Blaine on the tree branch.

“Good to see you,” I say. I’m relieved that he, at least, is here, bringing at least one weapon and hopefully some food with him.

“Thanks,” he says. Then, he looks at Blaine and says, “Ivy’s dead.”

Blaine nods like he expected it. Truthfully, we all expected it. She was so small and defenseless it only made sense.

“I don’t know about Olivia, though,” he continues. “She was still fighting when I left. She’d managed to get her hands on an axe, somehow.”

After a short pause, Pius asks, “What did you get?”

“Well, that sleeping bag, for one.” He points at the object in Pius’ hand. “At least, that’s what I think it is. I haven’t really had time to go through everything. I grabbed this sword off of the boy from Eleven – he’s dead, too – and I think this is a medical kit.” As if to check, he takes the backpack from his back and unzips it. From within he pulls the small white box. Inside, to my pleasure, I see gauze, a simple antiseptic medicine, fever pills, and a needle and thread. I could save lives with this kit – not that I’m going to be saving any life but my own, I remind myself guiltily.

He continues to make stock of the items he managed to grab. “Water purification tablets – there can’t be that many, though. Nope.” He reads off the label on the container. “‘Twenty-five count. One tablet per thirty four ounces of water.’ _Thanks_ ,” he says pointedly, lifting the container toward the sky. I don’t think the cameras will be on us right now – the bloodbath isn’t over yet; the audience knows we’ve survived – but still, it feels like a slap in the face to hear Linden say that. You don’t show outright disrespect to the Capitol. “This should last us about three days. Anyway.” He tucks the tablets in a small front pocket. “One knife. Here, Thesia, you’re good with those, aren’t you?”

He places the cold metal knife in my hand, and immediately I feel better. The knife is about six inches long and wicked sharp. Now I have something I can protect myself with, and though it isn’t much, it can still kill.

“What else?” Linden asks himself as he rifles through the bag. “A package of dried meat and a package of dried fruit. A water container.” He slips everything back into the bag and looks up. “That’s it.”

“Well…” Pius says. “It’s quite a good haul for one person. How did you get so _much_?”

Linden shakes his head. “You would be surprised how many people are more concerned with killing their enemies than getting supplies. The Careers especially – that girl from One killed the girl from Nine and didn’t even bother to grab the backpack Nine had on her back. Figured no one else would take it–”

“Or if they did, she would have plenty of supplies anyway,” someone says below us. All four of us look down. Linden and I draw our weapons, but it’s only Olivia. Unlike Linden, she shows obvious signs of battle. One of her braids has come out and been hastily shoved into a pigtail. There’s a wet streak of blood running down her arm that looks like it could come from a knife wound, and there’s the start of a bruise forming on her jaw. Like Linden, she carries a backpack, but the only other thing she appears to have is a bloody, heavy axe. My stomach turns at the sight of it, so I look back to Olivia. “That girl from Two puts up a good fight. She gave me this–”

Before Olivia can continue, the first cannon goes off. It is followed by eight more loud booms that echo through the whole arena. We all wait in silence long after the ninth shot, waiting to see if any more sound.

“Don’t more people die, usually?” Blaine asks despairingly. It’s true – usually about ten to twelve people die. It puts us at a worse advantage, but at least we’re still alive.

“It doesn’t matter,” Olivia says. “You all need to come down so we can _move_. We’re far too close to the Careers’ camp, and they’ll be on the warpath tonight.”

We don’t need any more of an incentive. Within two minutes all of us have safely reached the ground. Olivia is ready to take off, but Pius stops her and holds up the sleeping bag. “I can’t carry this around all day, but it will fit in one of the backpacks. If we put everything you have into Linden’s, or vice versa, I’ll carry the spare backpack.”

“Fine,” Olivia says, nearly ripping the bag off of her back, “but be quick about it.”

Pius and Linden do the job as quickly as possible. Inside of Olivia’s backpack we find two more knives, a coil of rope, and a loaf of bread. Our stock of food is worryingly low and lacking in protein, but there are bound to be animals somewhere in the forest. A few years back, the terrain was essentially rock and a good three-quarters of the bloodbath survivors died of hunger or thirst.

And what fun is watching people starve to death?

The minute both backpacks are secured on Pius and Linden’s backs and Pius and Blaine are handed the extra knives Olivia starts walking. We move quietly thanks to the soggy ground underfoot, but it’s so silent that every time the wind rustles in the trees or a far-off branch snaps we raise our weapons.

Eventually, we reach a break in the trees. A small lake, iced over completely, takes up most of the clearing. The water is the same steel gray as the river. In the center of the lake there is a small island, covered in snow, with three thin trees in the middle of it. It’s so still and perfect I find myself forgetting I’m in the arena.

Linden checks the sky in an attempt to see what time it is. The sun is invisible to our line of sight, but the pearly white clouds floating through the air hold some promise of pink.

“It’s sunset,” he murmurs. “My guess is it’s about four-thirty.” He looks back to us. “They won’t show the dead tributes until seven, but I don’t know if we’ll find another clearing like this. What do you say we stop for a few hours and rest up?”

Olivia looks hesitant to stop, but I’m hungry and parched, having not eaten or had anything to drink since this morning. We’ve only been walking for two or three hours on flat, level ground, but the signs of dehydration are starting to show. I have a headache and can’t produce enough saliva to wet my mouth.

“I think that sounds like a brilliant idea,” Blaine says. Pius nods vigorously.

“Fine, then,” Olivia says. She relaxes her grip on the axe but doesn’t let it go. “But let’s at least go to the other side of the lake.”

We skirt the edges of the frozen lake, where we’re less likely to leave obvious tracks, and come to rest in the snowy space between the lake and the trees. From here we have a clear view of the slowly darkening sky, where we’ll hopefully be able to see the pictures of the tributes killed today.

Everyone sits down in a ring and Linden starts to shovel snow into the water jug.

“What are you doing?” Olivia asks him.

“Getting water,” he answers simply.

She sighs and says, “It’ll take too long for the snow to melt. We’re all thirsty. Here, I’ll cut a hole in the lake and we can get water from there.”

She proceeds to do just that, using the axe to lift herself up, and walks the few short feet to the lake. Then, she lifts the axe over her head and brings it down on the ice with a loud _crack!_ The precision of her blow impresses me – in fact, everything about the way she deals with the axe impresses me. It lands about half a foot from the edge of the lake and leaves a small dent in it. She hits the ice seven more times until a misshapen hole forms. Underneath it, black water sloshes, then turns still.

“Ha!” she breathes, and comes over to take the jug from Linden. “Eat your snow if you will; we have to ten minutes for the tablets to work anyway.” She goes back over to the lake and fills the container with clear water. A little bit splashes onto an exposed crack of skin and she shivers. “That water is _cold_.”

I stare at the black hole of water and hope I never have to touch it. As night falls, the temperature is dropping rapidly, cutting through the thick fabric of my snowsuit and making me shiver. I wonder just how cold it will get tonight.

While we wait for the water to purify, we eat handfuls of snow to wet our mouths and look and the dishearteningly small pile of food Linden has drawn from his pack. I glance up at the trees surrounding us and remember what I learned about eating pine bark. Fortunately, there are pine trees aplenty around here.

“Olivia,” I say, “could we put that axe to use again?”

“What for?” she asks, instinctively drawing the axe closer to her.

“I know where we can get more food,” I say simply. “Pine tree bark.”

The three boys don’t look too pleased, but I know they all stopped by the edible foods station at the training center. Olivia, however, did not, and she merely raises an eyebrow questioningly. I look back at her calmly, daring her not to help me. “If you’re sure, Six,” she says. “Point the way.”

We walk about five feet into the woods and pick a pine tree at random. I instruct Olivia on how to cut the bark off of the tree while I climb a little ways up the branches and collect pine needles. I remember trying to eat these when I was six, playing house with Violet in the medicine gardens closest to her home. She, being the mother, had made me, the father, a lovely supper of pine needles, wild clover, and a few dandelions. The pine needles were sticky, sharp, and bitter to the taste and I had told myself I wouldn’t eat them ever again.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

“You finished, Six?” Olivia asks after a few minutes. I climb down the tree, taking great care not to drop any of the pine needles, and land on the ground next to her. In her hands she holds several strips of flexible pine bark, the light side turned up. I show her how to separate the edible inner bark from the tough outer bark and run back to our camp to drop off the pine needles before returning to Olivia to help her finish. Soon, we have three strips of pine bark and a handful of needles to show for our foraging.

“I’ll do some more scavenging tomorrow,” I promise, sitting back down in between Pius and Linden. “It’s too dark to now.” I lean forward and take the bread between my hands. It’s about a foot long, fairly large for a load of bread, and made of light, coarse flour. It would be so tempting to break it into five even pieces and fill my growling stomach, but I know I can’t do that right now. Instead, I break it in half, give one half back to Linden to put in the bag, and break that into five small pieces. While I’m doing this, Pius hands each person a strip of meat and a piece of fruit. Olivia and Blaine evenly split the needles and bark and pass them out. I can fit the entire meal in my hands with room left over.

“First meal of the Hunger Games. Enjoy,” Linden mutters sarcastically as he bites into his bread. I eat my food slowly, for even though my stomach is grumbling at me to fill it I want the food to last as long as possible. Unfortunately, I’m an incredibly fast eater. Even eating excruciatingly slow, I finish before anyone else. I look around in the dim light to see if there’s any sort of edible _anything_ around us but see only trees.

Blaine sighs when he finishes it and mutters, “That’s more food than I usually get at home.”

I stare at him, shocked, but no one else seems that surprised. “Me, too,” Linden admits. “The community home doesn’t have much food to spare.”

“You live in a community home?” asks Pius.

This interests me, because no one I know has actually ever had to live in one of the community homes in 6. I’ve seen the kids who live there, of course – little penniless things whose bones jut out irregularly underneath their waxy skin, constantly cold in the winter and feverishly hot in the summer.

Linden nods and says, “The water’s probably done,” quietly, not meeting any of our eyes.

When we all decide the water is purified enough, we pass it around the circle until the very last drop is gone. Then, Olivia fills it with more water and drops one more tablet inside. Not thirty minutes have passed since we discovered the clearing, so by Linden’s calculation we still have about two hours until the death recap. The others start a quiet discussion about what to do next, the supplies we need, the layout of the arena. We’ve clearly found a reliable source of water in this little lake, provided we aren’t forced to flee from it, but we only have half a loaf of bread, one stick of dried meat, and a few pieces of fruit left – and we have yet to see an animal.

Now that we’ve been sitting down for awhile, weariness is creeping up on me, and that’s one thing I can’t afford to give in to tonight. I crawl over to Pius and lean against his back, asking, “Do you mind?” in his ear.

“Not at all,” he whispers back. “Do you have your knife?”

“Yep.” I hold up the weapon for him to see.

He leans his head back against mine for a moment and says, “I’ll wake you when something happens.”

 _When something happens_ , I think as I drift off to sleep. _Not_ if _something happens, because_ something _is always bound to happen now, isn’t it?_

 

When Pius wakes me up, I’m a little disoriented to find myself lying on the ground with my head resting in his lap. The anthem is playing far above our heads.

“Sorry about moving you,” he says a little sheepishly. “You fell over once, so…”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling at him even though it’s too dark to see anything. I’m a little surprised I fell asleep that quickly and slept so soundly, but I’m glad I had the opportunity to. I don’t know when the next time I’ll get to sleep is.

 It’s bitterly cold now, and I notice Olivia and Blaine shivering. I scoot closer to Pius until our bodies are connected, sharing heat. Overhead, the Seal of Panem is disappearing. Dash from Three’s face replaces it, so thin and serious. I hold my breath as each new face appears, staring down into the arena. After Dash comes Ariel from Five, which means that all of the Careers survived the bloodbath. After Ariel fades away, the girl from District 8 appears. Then Hayden, whose death replays vividly in my head. Then the girl from 9. The boy from 9. The poor girl with the broken arm from 11. Her fellow district tribute. Ivy.

We sit in silence for just a moment, watching the Capitol seal disappear. I think of the giant screen above our heads, no doubt suspended by a hovercraft of some sort. The catacombs below our very feet. It’s aggravating, how we’re so near other humans and yet we’re stuck in this wild world until twenty-three of us are dead.

“Nine down, fourteen to go,” Pius sighs. “Come on, guys, let’s keep moving.”

After quickly making sure we have all of our supplies and a full water container, we stand up and start moving in a crooked line. As we leave the lake, I remember that I have no idea what our exact plan is. I run to catch up with Blaine, who is nearest me, and whisper in his ear, “How long are we walking, exactly?”

He smirks. “Tired already, Thesia?”

I give him a little push. “You only wish. I was asleep whenever this plan was made.”

With an understanding little nod he tells me that we’re going to walk until what we think is sometime around ten, find a good spot to sleep for the night, and decide our next step in the morning. The others have also set up a guard system and sleeping arrangements. It’s so cold it would be foolish to sleep separately when there are four other bodies to lie close to. So while two groups of two people sleep, the guard sits in between them and waits three hours to wake the next guard up. I, of course, am the first on guard. Provided we all survive that long, the guard system will even out in five nights.

There has been no discussion about what happens after the five nights are up.

We walk quickly, and even though I can feel my body heat reflecting back on me I’m shivering in the suit. My nose is no doubt as red as blood and has insisted on dripping mucus onto my lip which, if left there too long, will freeze onto my skin. Despite my nap I feel fatigue creeping up on me after we’ve been walking for about two hours. I can only wonder how the others are holding up. Still, no one complains. Once, as we’re walking through the forest, we spot the distant flicker of a fire.

“Should we go after them?” Blaine asks, whispering so only we can hear.

My stomach twists. I know I’m going to have to kill a lot of people to get out of this. I know I should start desensitizing myself. Still, the thought of five people cornering someone and sticking him through makes me sick. “There’s no point,” I whisper, a little too harshly. “We can do it tomorrow.”

We walk in silence the rest of the way. Finally, Olivia, who’s in the front, stops and says, “It has to be ten now. I say we find somewhere to stay the night.”

It’s so dark I can barely make out the figures of my allies, but I see the tallest one – Pius? – slouch a little. Only when he says, “I think that sounds like a brilliant plant. Who’s on guard first?” can I confirm it’s him.

“Si – Thesia is, remember?” Linden asks from somewhere near my right. I hear his pack slide to the ground, the medical supplies jingling inside their white plastic box. “And Olivia and Blaine get the sleeping bag tonight.”

We arrange ourselves as best we can in the dark. I end up sitting with my back to a tree, Pius on one side of me and Olivia on the other. We’re so close we’re touching, but I still shiver uncontrollably for what I can best guess is three hours. At least, the segmented ball of light that’s supposed to be the moon has moved to about its one o’clock position by the time I wake Pius up. We switch places as quietly as we can and, ignoring the fact that I barely know him, I curl up next to Linden like we’re a pair of puppies and bury my face in his arm. Even with his warmth pressed close to my body, I don’t fall asleep until well into Pius’ watch.

I am jolted awake by the sound of a cannon firing through the arena. Next to me, Linden is practically propelled from the ground by the sound. Olivia has woken up as well, but Blaine sleeps on. A thin mist seeps through the air. It stings my face when it reaches me, like tiny pieces of glass pelting my skin. It is so cold – so impossibly cold – and I have a headache.

“What do you reckon happened?” Olivia asks breathlessly. “Do you think they’re near here?”

“There’s no point in waiting to find out,” Pius says. His voice sounds a little shaky. “Go back to sleep. Linden, it’s about time to switch anyway.”

I wait while the two boys switch, massaging my temples and cursing the cold. When Pius is lying beside me, I scoot closer to him. Without a word, he puts his arm under my head and whispers, “You didn’t stop shivering all through my watch.”

I sigh and close my eyes, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. His body is oddly stiff against mine, and in the still air his ragged breath cuts through my ears like a knife. I think of the cannon shot, the aftereffects of which are still ringing in my head, and wonder if he’s scared that whoever killed the tribute is going to find us. But if he was, why wouldn’t he get us to move away from them? Did he hear anything while the rest of us were sleeping?

The thought that Pius might have heard something – something so frightening or strange that he didn’t want to tell me about it – puts me on edge. I rest against his rigid body the rest of the night, drifting in and out of sleep and listening to my friend’s uneasy breaths.


	9. The Second Day

When Linden wakes me up the next morning, it’s barely dawn. Through the trees I can just see the sky, gray-pink, with one bright star twinkling down at us.

“What time is it?” I ask, blinking rapidly. My headache has not entirely disappeared, and unfortunately it’s for good reason. I’ve gotten a combined total of about seven hours of sleep on what may be the most crucial nights of the remainder of my life. For most people, that would be enough to function properly for a whole day – but for me, I know this headache won’t go away until tonight. To top things off, my growling stomach only increases my discomfort.

 _Stop whining,_ I tell myself irritably. _You could be dead by now._

“About seven-thirty,” he replies. “It’s hard to tell what time it really is out here.”

I scoff and disentangle myself from Pius’ arms. A thin layer of frost covers the majority of my snowsuit, and I have to wonder just how cold it got last night.

Gently poking Pius awake, I look over to where Olivia and Blaine are sitting. He is rolling up the sleeping bag, swearing whenever the thing pops out of place, while she stretches her stiff limbs. I see her wince when the arm that Arden cut rises above her head.

“How deep did she get you?” I ask.                      

“Pretty much to the bone.” She drops her arm and winces again. “I stitched it up last night. Pius helped.”

“Good,” I say softly. Then, my stomach growls loud enough for everyone to hear and I ask, “How about some breakfast?”

“Alright,” Olivia says, “but I’m doling out the portions. We’re almost out of food.”

“I know,” I say. “I thought maybe today we could look for food and…keep our eyes out for stray tributes.”

The words taste like poison in my mouth, and the only thing I can think about is my family, sitting at home and hearing me say those words. I wonder how they’ve held up. Were they alone on the first day of the Hunger Games, watching me? Or did they have friends and family with them to be there as an extra stronghold?

We eat our breakfast – about an inch of bread, a bite of meat, and two pieces of dried fruit apiece – and then form a plan for the day. One of the first things that’s decided is that we should split up. Our group is too large to avoid detection for long, and that way we’ll cover twice the ground.

“Pius and I can both identify more edible foods than anyone else, so the two of us should split up,” I say, somewhat reluctantly. I don’t like the idea of leaving Pius. One look at him tells me he doesn’t, either, but we don’t exactly have a choice. “If Olivia and Blaine go with Pius and Linden comes with me, both groups will have a larger weapon with them.”

“Where do we meet again?” Pius asks almost immediately.

“How about at the lake, right before sunset?” Olivia suggests. “We’ll need more water, anyway. And if either group finds a better campsite we’ll have time to find it again.”

I frown. “But how will we find the lake again? Besides, we’re a three hours’ walk away from it in a forest that looks the same every way we turn.”

“We should meet back here, then,” Linden says, “two hours before sunset. It will be easier to walk in daylight, and sunset’s two and a half hours before the death recap, anyway.”

Since none of us can think of a better plan, we divide up our supplies and head in different directions. Linden and I end up with the medical kit, the sleeping bag, and the backpack Linden snagged yesterday. We could have had worse, but I’m a little worried about our water situation. If possible, we need to find another water container. Fast.

For the first few minutes of walking, we are tense at the prospect of meeting another tribute. Eventually, however, we relax. The terrain in the forest becomes rocky and uneven, eventually sloping upwards. Our breath is soon heavy and bated. If my directions are correct, we’re heading away from the cliff that loomed over me before the bloodbath – and towards the fire we saw last night.

“So you’re an expert at foraging in midwinter,” Linden says dryly. I’m walking about a foot in front of him, so I have to turn around to see his face. It’s about as blank as it could possibly be.

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” I say. “I mean, everyone in Six is, to an extent. When you spend your life either gardening or turning plants into medicine, you start to learn what you can and can’t eat. We have communal gardens and greenhouses by the factories – every kid twelve and older has to work in one every afternoon.”

“Oh.” Linden takes an extra step and catches up to me. “Did you do garden or factory?”

I was hoping he wouldn’t have asked that question. The truth is, I stopped working in the gardens when I was thirteen. As soon as I had learned enough about what kind of plant does what, I was whisked off to work in the laboratories with my parents. And last night, in that snippet of conversation about Linden living in a community home and Blaine going to bed hungry every night, I’ve been dreading talking about _my_ life, which seems so easy compared to theirs.

“I…” I say, trying to decide whether or not to lie to him. _It won’t matter, anyway,_ I tell myself. _It’s not your fault you’re wealthy, or his that he’s poor._ “I used to work in the greenhouse.”

“Used to?” He looks at me, a little confused.

“My parents don’t work in the factories,” I admit. “My mother’s a chemist and my father invents medicines to be used in the Capitol. So…it was pointless to have me trained to work in the gardens or factories. I’ve been working in the labs for two years. I was going to be a chemist as well.”

It takes him a moment to reply. “So your family is wealthy.”

“Yes.” I look around us, having completely forgotten to look for food in the last few minutes. There’s nothing around us but trees, mud, and a barely-there stream. “It’s strange that we haven’t seen any animals yet,” I say to change the subject.

“They’re probably all hibernating.”

I sigh and say, “Yeah. Who wouldn’t want to be in this weather?”

That at least gets a little laugh from him. “And since the animals are being so elusive, what kind of plant are we looking for?”

I sigh and think about it. “Anything that’s not a pine tree and has some kind of something – berries, nuts, flowers – there aren’t going to be any flowers, though. So berries, nuts, mushrooms…vegetables.” I shrug. How are you supposed to describe every possible food item to someone who really doesn’t know what he’s looking for? “Keep your eye out for anything that looks edible.”

We walk for about an hour and a half, and the only change in scenery is that that the stream slowly changes into a river – probably the same one that snakes all the way around the arena. The gradual slope eventually turns into the side of a mountain with rocks and trees spaced haphazardly on its face. After a few minutes of quick climbing, I lean against a rock to catch my breath.

“Hey,” Linden says, veering over to an oak tree. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves some food.”

Around the base of the oak tree are dozens of acorns. Some of them have rotted through, but a good many are still intact and waiting to be eaten. Something about the presence of the acorns bothers me, though. The acorns in District 6 fall from the oak trees in mid-autumn, and what we don’t collect is quickly eaten by the wild animals. There are never this many acorns left over in the wintertime. So why haven’t the animals eaten or stored them?

As I stare down at the acorns, perplexed, a horrible thought hits me. We have yet to see any animals in the arena. Every oak tree in front of us is surrounded by acorns. The two add up horribly well, and they mean that something about the acorns is keeping the animals away…or there are no animals at all.

I push the thought to the back of my head. I don’t want to think about the possibility of my having to survive without animals to hunt. I’ll face that when I must.

Acting nonchalant, I walk over to Linden and take an acorn from his hands. Then, I crack it open and drop the seed into my palm. I stare at the tiny brown thing, wondering just how poisonous it could really be. If I’m wrong and there really are animals here, avoiding these nuts because they’re toxic, this could be the last thing I ever eat.

I swallow and look at the leaves of the tree. Surely if there’s not something more exciting going on right now the cameras are zoomed in on me, broadcasting my face all across Panem. Are they about to see me die? Is my family anxiously awaiting the sound of the cannon? My stomach churns, and I want to drop the acorn on the ground and forget all about it. But I can’t. This might be the only source of food for miles. Nervously, I glance back down at my hand, raise the nut to my mouth, and nibble on the hard skin. Instantly, a bitter taste enters my mouth. I drop the nut and spit onto the forest floor, trying to get the taste away.

“Are you alright?” Linden asks, putting his hands on my shoulders. Acorns from his hands fall on our feet like drops of rain.

“I’m fine,” I say, nodding, “I think. Those nuts just have too much…I don’t remember what it’s called.”

“Tannin,” he replies. “The trees around Seven are full of the stuff. Sometimes, when the Peacekeepers aren’t looking, we – I mean, I eat ‘em anyways. It’s better than the food we get at the home.”

I smile, not sure what to say to this. The food Linden is used to must be truly horrible for him to stomach the tannin. We go around to different oak trees, biting into the nuts and deciding whether they’re good enough to eat. In the end, we’ve filled the bottom of the backpack with dozens of sweet nuts, and we carry more in our hands to eat as we walk. We’ve only been walking for about five minutes when I see something right ahead of us in the trees that makes me stop.

“What?” Linden asks. I hush him and point ahead. Probably fifteen feet in front of us, someone dashes into our line of sight. They’re female in shape and stature, and when I see a strand of long red hair against the white snowsuit I know that it’s Rose from 10. My heart jumps up into my chest; I have no idea what to do.

As it turns out, I don’t have to decide. Rose skids to a halt when she sees us, and a strangled cry escapes her throat. Hardly a second passes before she takes off it the opposite direction, running uphill as quickly as she can.

“Come on,” Linden says, his face grim. He takes off after her, and I – very reluctantly – follow him. All I can think is _I don’t want to kill her I don’t want to kill her_ , but Linden is running so fast and I want to go home so badly that I offer up no protest.

Unfortunately, Rose is fast. She already had a head start on us, and with the rocks and upward slope, chasing her proves to be no easy business. After a minute, my heart is pounding in my chest and I can barely breathe – and Rose is more than fifty feet in front of us.

“Linden,” I gasp, grabbing his wrist. He looks back at me, his eyes wild, and skids to a halt. “I can’t–”

There’s an ear-splitting scream ahead of us. We both whip our heads forward in time to see Rose falling on the ground. She’s surrounded by four white figures. One – who is so heavyset it can only be Otto – is swinging a mace towards her chest.

Linden grabs my hand and pulls me to the left. We duck behind a tall boulder, breathing heavily. Rose stops screaming abruptly and there’s a cannon shot. We wait for a few moments, our breath leaving our mouths in great white puffs.

“Another one down,” a girl says conspiratorially. I think it’s Kenzie from 4. “How many more do you think we can get today?”

Linden leans his head back against the rock and looks at me, his eyes round. “They won’t notice us if we go now,” he whispers.

I hold my breath and look around the edge of the rock. The Careers are lounging around Rose’s body, joking about killing more tributes. They don’t seem to know we’re here, but if they set out on the hunt soon, they might come our way. If they get much closer or less distracted, it will be too late and we’ll have no choice but to run – and, undoubtedly, fight. I don’t want to risk causing too much noise in our flight, but running honestly seems like the best choice. Hesitantly, I nod. Linden lets go of my hand and whispers, “Run.”

I do. We run out of the grove of oak trees, heading downhill to get as far away from them as possible. The loose objects in our backpack rattle worryingly, but it can’t be fixed until we find somewhere we can hide. I don’t dare look behind us for fear of seeing any one of them pursuing us, bow or cudgel or trident raised to attack. My heart is racing, pumping adrenaline through my veins, and I imagine branches cracking and leaves rustling behind us.

After a few minutes, Linden slows to a stop, his breathing heavy. I lean against a tree, panting, and look behind us.

No one.

“We…got…away,” I say laboriously. I’m not used to this much running. I can tell Linden isn’t, either.

After a few minutes, we’ve both caught our breath. “Where to now?” I ask. We can’t very well retrace our steps into the arms of the Careers, but it’s way too early for us to meet up with the others.

We both look around. The forest stretches out around us, repetitive, beautiful – and lacking any sort of desirable food. Aside from a light breeze that chills my face, the air is still and silent.

“I suppose we could keep going up,” Linden says with a shrug. He points to our left, the opposite direction from which we fled the Careers. It does not look any different from the scenery below us or to our right, but if I look hard enough I think I can see distant, dark bushes growing around the bases of trees. My interest sparks at the thought of what those bushes could hold, if anything is alive in this dead-of-winter arena, but I don’t let myself get too excited. The bushes could turn out to be nothing more than shadows playing tricks.

We wait a few more minutes before setting out. Both of us hold our weapons in our hands, and we are on the lookout for any sign of the Careers. However, we don’t hear so much as a peep the rest of our walk.

As we get further up the mountain, the bushes come into focus. This part of the forest seems thicker and livelier than the rest; leaves begin to crunch under our feet and acorns reveal themselves at the bases of oak trees. Snow has found its way through the leaves, and there are frozen patches all over the ground.

It is about a ten minute walk to the newfound vegetation, and when we reach it, I can’t help but smile. I catch sight of the frozen river lying several hundred yards away, but in between that and us there are bushes of all shapes and sizes and what looks like a vine of wild squash. My stomach grumbles hungrily at the thought.

 “I think we’ve found food,” Linden says with a little laugh. I crouch down next to a berry bush and rest my fingers on the leaves. The berries are impossibly blue, which is a sure sign of poison, but as I stand up to walk away Linden says, “Wait. I remember those from training.” He plucks a berry from the bush and holds in between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Are you sure?” I ask. I remember exactly what the instructor told me, what my parents have been telling me for years. Never eat a berry unless you’re positive it’s not poisonous.

Linden nods. “I am. I remember because I thought it was weird that these berries were so blue.”

I am still hesitant. Now that I think about it, I can almost remember a brilliantly blue berry in training, but this one is so generic in its appearance. It could be anything, really. So I say, “If you’re so sure, then eat one. If you don’t die we’ll pick more.”

Linden swallows nervously. I can see I’ve planted doubts in his mind, but he still says, “Fine,” and pops the berry he was holding in his mouth. We wait in nervous silence for about ten seconds, during which I’m deathly afraid he’ll drop dead and I’ll be alone until I meet with the others in the afternoon. Thoughts rush through my mind, most notable and repetitive of which is, _If he dies you’ll be one tribute closer to home if he dies you’ll be–_

Then, Linden smiles at me. “I feel fine, Thesia. I don’t think they’re poisonous.”

“Okay.” I relax a little bit, but I’m still wary. “We’re still waiting five minutes,” I tell him. To pass the time, we go over to the squash patch, which I am more than excited about. These are winter squash, something we eat at least once a week during the fall and early winter at home. They’re filling and tasty enough when ripe. These, though, are showing signs of age. They should have been picked at least a month ago. “It almost seems too perfect,” I whisper.

Linden raises an eyebrow. “If you have doubts about every plant in this place, we’re going to starve and die anyway. Wouldn’t you rather be done with it quickly?”

I bite my lip. “I would rather not die at all.”

He sighs. “Well, maybe you won’t. But only if you pick some damn squash and stop worrying about getting poisoned.” He flashes me a smile and squats down next to the squash vine. There are two nubs running off the main vine, which means someone has already discovered this precious little patch – of course, it could very easily have been Rose, who’s now lying dead in a Capitol hovercraft.

I squat down next to Linden and use my knife to separate a squash from the vine. I pick it up and cradle it with both of my hands; even then it’s heavy. This will be problematic when we have to carry it back to camp, but I can only imagine the feast we’ll have tonight.

If, that is, nothing goes wrong.

“What if we took the sleeping bag out of the backpack?” Linden suggests when I ask him how we should transport the squash. “It’s not fun to carry, but that way one of us can hold it and we can stuff the backpack full of squash and berries – which, by the way, I seriously doubt are poisonous – and be done with it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. I cut one more squash free while he takes the sleeping bag out of the backpack. When the two squash are in the backpack, it becomes considerably heavier. Linden grunts when he lifts it on to his back, but doesn’t accept my offer to carry it.

We go back to the berry bush and try to think of the best way to store the juicy, sticky berries. Linden suggests putting them in the medical kit, but I quickly disagree. The berries would soil and stain every sterile thing in there.

“One of us could take off our undershirts and use it as a bag.”

“We could go over to where Rose was killed and see if they left behind anything useful.”

I cross my arms, stuck. Under normal circumstances I would have tossed the berries inside of the backpack, but with the heavy squash in there they would be crushed to a pulp and make a mess of everything. If there was some way to protect them from the squash…

“Oh!” I say with a small jump. “Linden, turn around.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Just turn around.” He does so, and I unzip the bag and take out the topmost squash. Balancing it in one hand, I knock on the hard rind. As expected, the noise that is produced is hollow. Then, I take my knife and plunge it into the squash’s flesh. After about an inch or two, there is no resistance. So I cut the top fifth of the squash of – this is a little difficult with only a knife – and crack it open.

It’s hollow.

“We can store the berries in here!” I say, excited. “It won’t tip over when there are two squash stuffing the backpack, so we won’t have to worry about eating jam.”

“Thesia, you’re brilliant.” Linden drops the backpack and takes the larger part of the squash from me. I’m glad to see that, even though it’s probably overripe, it’s not rotten.

We fill the squash with the blue berries and then balance it inside the backpack. When that is done, we sit down and unzip the tops of our snowsuits, letting them flop around at our waists. Under the midday sun, the forest has become warm and fresh, so our undershirts provide the perfect amount of protection against the weather. I distantly wonder how the weather could go from this to too cold to sleep in a matter of hours – but then remember that the Gamemakers are behind it all.

“What time is it?” I ask Linden, who’s apparently better at guessing the time than I am. The sun hangs low over the sky, positioned just to the left of the middle.

“About twelve-thirty,” he says. “We should start heading back soon.”

I nod and pluck a berry off of the bush. We’ve been eating them freely with no negative side effects, so I’ve lost most of my reservations about them. Then, I take another handful of snow and eat it slowly. “I’ll be glad when we get back and have water to drink again.”

Linden laughs. “So will I.”

After we’ve eaten our fill of berries, snow, and another squash I picked from the vine, we put our snowsuits and gloves back on and make our way towards the frozen river. Even though more people will be using it as a walkway, it’s the only way we know to get back to our camp. Besides, our luck has held out for today. Maybe it will last just a little while longer.

As we walk, we stay silent and keep our eye out for other tributes. There are footprints embedded in the mud – tiny footprints that must belong to a single girl. Whose could it be? Certainly not Sylkie’s, Arden’s, or Kenzie’s – they’re all traveling in a large group. My feet aren’t that small, and I haven’t walked this way yet. Olivia hasn’t been over here at all – I don’t think. That leaves Byte and Rose – but the latter is dead.

After we’ve been walking for about an hour, we come across an abandoned campsite. At least, I think that’s what it is. The remains of a fire smolder next to a black backpack that looks like it has been thrown aside. On the bark of the trees all around there are red stains, and when I lean down to pick up the backpack I find that it’s damp with blood. I recoil, wiping my red glove on the ground.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

Linden touches the blood on a tree, but his glove comes away clean. “This must be from the tribute who was killed last night.”

“But who would have done such a messy job of it? And why didn’t they take his backpack?” Bracing myself, I kneel down again to pick it up.

“Thesia,” Linden says, putting a hand on my shoulder. He points to something on the ground next to the fire and my blood turns cold. A wolf’s paw, three times larger than any I’ve ever seen, is imprinted four inches deep in the mud.

“Another tribute didn’t kill him,” I realize. “A mutt did.”


	10. Night

My stomach twists into knots as I stare at the backpack. Mutts are the only logical explanation for all of this – the blood everywhere, the enormous paw mark. And isn’t this just the thing the Gamemakers would do? Make sure the arena was devoid of animals – except, of course, for ones that are capable of ripping us apart.

“Let’s get out of here,” Linden says, pulling me along. His skin has turned a pale shade of green. Squirming at the thought of another tribute’s blood on my clothes, I put the backpack on and try to ignore its light weight on my back.

“That must have been the fire we saw last night,” I say. “It wasn’t too far from our campsite.” _I wonder if we did that tribute a favor by not killing them when we could have._

The others are not back when we reach our campsite, which is marked out by a pile of leaves pinned under a few pebbles. Linden and I sit against opposite trees, our weapons on the ground beside us, while I take inventory of the items in the backpack. The inside of the backpack is remarkably untouched by the blood, evidenced by a soft piece of bread that’s as golden-brown as ever. There are also two cans of beef stew, but no can opener. I toss the food items to Linden, who looks for a weak spot in the cans where we could open them with a rock or knife. There’s also a fire-starting kit, which will be vital as we’re picked off one by one.

The only other thing in the bag is a heavy, rolled-up length of fabric. I unclasp the lock on it and it rolls open, revealing six plastic pouches, five of which have knives of varying shapes and sizes in them.

I grin, taking the first one out. It’s five inches long, the blade made of silver that gleams wickedly in the dappled sunlight. The bottom half of the blade is serrated, flowing into a handle of polished wood. “Thank you, dead tribute!” I say happily, taking the other knives out and tucking my favorite, a five-inch long, serrated blade, beside my other knife. Then, I toss the bag to Linden. “Choose one,” I tell him.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling out the biggest knife and examining it. He pauses for a moment. “Do we tell the others about ‘em?”

This strikes me as an odd thing to say. “The knives?” I ask incredulously. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well…if we wanted more for ourselves.”

I know exactly why we wouldn’t tell the others about the knives, but they’re our _allies_. It seems wrong to even consider not telling them about the knives, especially since there are five of us and five knives. I blatantly shake my head. “I couldn’t do that – not to Pius, at least.”

“Do what to me?” Pius asks, confused. I whip around and see them standing a few yards away, looking at us warily.

“Not tell you that we found five knives.” Linden tosses them the pouch and glances at me. “We took them from the tribute who was killed last night.”

“Oh.” Pius sits down next to me. Olivia and Blaine sit down as well, forming a crooked circle. Olivia tosses the knife pack to Blaine, wielding the first knife I saw. “Whoever killed them didn’t take it?”

I look at Linden and say, “Their campsite didn’t look like people did it. We think it was mutts.”

“ _Mutts_?” Blaine asks, his eyes wide. “Did you see them?”

“No,” I answer, “but I don’t think a regular pack of wolves could leave paw prints bigger than my face.”

Olivia frowns as she takes in the news. “But how can you be sure?”

“I heard them,” Pius pipes up. We all look at him, wondering how on earth he could possibly know that – he hasn’t seen anything we haven’t. “Last night, right before the cannon went off, I heard these loud growls and barks. They seemed pretty far away, so I didn’t wake you up. And then a boy started screaming, but…it ended pretty quickly.”

I feel slightly sick at the thought of the gristly end the boy – whoever it was – met. What an awful way to die – literally torn apart by wolf muttations when you probably can’t even see your attackers.

“Well,” Olivia says faintly, “do you have any good news?”

Linden smiles and unzips the backpack, revealing our treasure trove of food. “If you would call this good news,” he says with a grin.

“Where–”

“There’s a grove about a two hours’ walk that way,” Linden says, pointing in the direction we just came from. “It’s full of berry bushes. We even found winter squash.”

Olivia takes the squash from the backpack. “You stuck the berries inside?”

“It was to keep them from being crushed,” I explain. “We didn’t have anything to carry them in – speaking of which, does anyone have water? I’m parched.”

Pius laughs and says, “Very clever.”

Blaine taps my arm. He’s holding the water container, full to the brim of cold, clean water. I smile and thank him before unscrewing the cap and gulping down mouthful after mouthful of water. My throat is dry after not having anything to drink all day, and the freezing water feels blissful–

“Take it easy, Six, we won’t have any more water until we get back to the lake,” Olivia says sharply.

I stop drinking, embarrassed, and look at Linden. “You want some?” I ask him, holding up the container. He nods and crawls forward to take the considerably emptier bottle. Then I turn back to the others and ask, “Well, do _you_ have any good news?”

“We found caves in the cliff face,” pipes up Blaine. “We couldn’t reach any of them, but if we had the right tools to get up they would make nice shelters. If there isn’t anything nasty in them.”

Olivia frowns. “I hadn’t thought of that. Otherwise, we didn’t find anything out. It’s clear forest until you hit the caves. No shrubs or anything. We nearly ran into that girl from Three, though – she’s got a wicked looking bow, but I don’t know how well she can use it.”

“When did you see her?” I ask.

“Oh…” Olivia shrugs. “Noon? We were exploring the island in the middle of the lake when we heard her. We hid behind the trees – she got water, but I don’t think she has purification tablets or iodine or anything. She just drank it right out of the lake.”

In the light of the fading day we make it to the lake in about two and a half hours. The smooth ice is marred by the hole Olivia chopped in it last night, but nothing else looks disturbed. A light breeze starts up as we’re sitting down to ration out our dinner, a signal of the cold night to come.

Even though we all feel like eating everything Linden and I collected, we force ourselves to eat only half of it. One thing we hadn’t thought of when recruiting allies was the possibility of not having enough food – the bread, meat, and fruit could have lasted a single person several days. So we split one squash between the five of us. The berries and acorns are quickly depleted, but we know where to find more.

After we’ve finished dinner, Olivia and Linden go in search of firewood. We had a lengthy discussion about the safety of the fire, how the boy who was killed had used the exact same fire starting kit last night, about how it would draw attention towards us. But as the chill settled around us our doubts weakened and we decided to try the fire one night.

I lean against Pius, my head finding the same crook of his shoulder that it did last night. I still haven’t gotten my head around the idea that, eventually, one of us is going to die. The thought frightens me, but even scarier is that part of me wishes I’ll be the first to go. Ever since our names were drawn out of the reaping balls, we’ve grown closer and closer instead of farther apart. Instead of becoming enemies, we’ve become better friends. Dependent on each other, even.

And I hate it.

“So you really had such an unexciting day?” I ask.

Across from us, Blaine sighs. “For the most part.”

“And did you find anything interesting on the island?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Those three pine trees are it. I could have sworn I found a bird’s nest, but it was just a tangle of pine needles.”

Pius sighs. “You have to wonder what their motives were behind making sure there were no animals in the arena. It doesn’t really liven things up.”

“Well…that grove goes on for miles,” I say, “and it’s the only source of food we’ve found besides pine trees–”

“So it’s the only source of food we’ve found,” Blaine interjects, his eyes twinkling. I giggle, thinking of the bark I forced down my throat last night, and secretly agree with him.

“No, but really. What if that grove is the only way to get food after the Cornucopia stock runs out?” I leave Pius’ shoulder and lean forward, looking at Blaine intently. I have both of their complete attentions. “We’ll be forced together by the end of this week.”

“And after that,” Pius say softly, “it will be like the bloodbath all over again.”

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” Blaine says, frowning intently. “Why would the Gamemakers want to end the Games that quickly?”

That is a question that neither of us can answer. While we wait for Olivia and Linden to return I pull out my necklace and twirl the caduceus in between my fingers. It is the most familiar object I have in this arena. I wonder who will wear it next year, when I’m dead. I wonder if she’s watching me right now.

The rustle of leaves dropping on the ground makes me break out of my reverie with a start. Olivia and Linden are back, their arms full of branches. Most of them look too green to even hold a flame.

“Before you complain,” says Olivia, seeing my skeptical face, “these are the driest branches we could find. And if that boy could start a fire, so can we.” She drops her branches with a determined _humph_ and goes to open the fire starting kit. It contains a flint lighter and four bricks of something that looks like red coal. Since I am no expert at starting fires, I sit back and watch while Blaine and Olivia fiddle with the branches and tinder before taking the lighter and try to coax the leaves to catch. They succeed just before night falls, and to try and hide the flame we sit in a tight circle around the fire. Hiding seems pointless after we start talking, though, for in this bare forest voices carry far.

“Are we going to have a plan for tomorrow?” Pius asks, his ungloved hands stretching toward the fire. His caduceus ring glitters dully in the orange light, almost like a flame itself.

“Stay alive?” Blaine suggests with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

I smile and say, “I think we should stick with that one.”

Though I am rewarded with a returned smile from Blaine, the rest of the group looks down at the ground uncomfortably. Pius pulls his hands away from the fire and slips his gloves back on without a word. No one says anything for about five minutes, and just when I’m about to lose my patience and speak, Linden says, “I think we should try to find a better camp. Closer to the grove.”

“And maybe not as open,” Olivia pipes up, “though I don’t like the idea of being so close to where you saw those footsteps – and the Careers.”

As we walked to the lake, Linden and I had told the others about both instances. We were able to track down the footsteps that Byte had left by the lake and confirm that the others were hers, which Pius guessed meant she was staying in about the same area we were, albeit closer to the center of the arena.

“We’ll eventually have to be that close to them anyway,” Linden reminds her. “So would you rather it be now, when the five of us can pick a few of them off together, or later, when we’ll each be on our own?”

Olivia stares at him, her placid face hiding a hint of annoyance. “If you have to put it _that_ _way_ ,” she says, spitting out the last two words, “by all means, let’s go tonight.”

“I think we should stay here tonight,” Blaine says quietly. “We all need more sleep.”

I send a silent thanks to Blaine while I am attempting to suppress a yawn. I’m more tired than I’ve made myself believe all day – after we saw the Careers kill Rose, I was on pure adrenaline for several hours. But once again, now that we’ve been sitting for a while, my eyes feel like they’re swollen and I have a throbbing headache. “Toss me the water, Linden,” I request, holding out my hands. He tosses the water container over the fire, where it falls perfectly into my hands.

“Linden,” Olivia warns. “You shouldn’t go chucking that over fires. If we lose it, we won’t have a way of carrying water around.”

“Sorry,” he says to get her off his back, “but she specifically requested I _toss_ her the water.”

Olivia merely rolls her eyes at this and stares into the fire. We spend the next few hours sitting and talking in hushed voices, stopping abruptly every time we think we hear a noise. For a place so devoid of animal life, the forest is full of snapping twigs, rustling leaves, and howling winds. Every time something behind me shifts, the hair on the back of my neck stands up and I whirl around, a knife in either hand. I know that I am defenseless against Byte’s bow or Otto’s spiked mace, but the thought of having two weapons instead of just one makes me feel…safer, almost.

When it _must_ be nearing seven o’clock, I look into the sky and see that dark clouds have rolled in. They form a misshapen circle around the center of the arena, which will no doubt be covered once the death recap has been broadcast.

“Do those look like snow clouds?” I ask, pointing upward. It’s been so long since we’ve had snow in District 6 I can no longer remember just what they look like.

“They do,” Blaine says, frowning. “Looks like we’re in for a bit of a chill tonight.”

“A _bit_?” I ask incredulously, because I have been shivering even without snow. It’s easily been under freezing since we arrived in the arena, but that was minimized because of the lack of cold, wet stuff piercing your skin. I instinctively move closer to the fire and hold my hands out. It doesn’t help that the first few hours of sleep I get, I’ll be next to Olivia. I know that since we’re both girls I should be more comfortable around her than the others – except Pius, maybe – but she makes an effort to distance herself from all of us. I don’t know the first thing about her. I’ve never been alone with her.

Overhead, the national anthem starts to play. My eyes drift upward and rest on the seal of Panem, which vanishes after a few moments. It is replaced by Matthias’ face staring down at us.

“Guess he was the one the mutts got,” Linden says. I shudder. What a horrible way to die.

Then Rose appears, there are a few final notes, and the sky goes black.

After putting out the fire, we go a few yards into the forest, where we are better protected, and get in the same basic layout as last night. Pius and Linden, the lucky dogs who get to sleep through the night in a sleeping bag, lie down on Blaine’s left side. I get down next to Blaine, and Olivia is next to me. As I expected, she turns her back towards me as soon as we’re on the ground. Oh well. At least she’s actually pressing up against me.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m so tired or because I know I have to sleep well tonight, but I doze off after only a few minutes and am not roused until Olivia shakes me awake to take over watch. All of us are covered in a layer of snow, and more of the stuff is drifting down through breaks in the trees. It must be snowing awfully hard for this much to have already broken through.

I have no idea what time it is, and Olivia wordlessly switches with me, so I sit back against the tree and look up at the sky. It’s cloudy, so of course I can’t see the moon. Instead I wait hour upon endless hour until it starts to lighten, though the snow does not let up. Then I know that it’s somewhere in between seven and eight. I’ve been up for four hours, maybe more, and constant shivering and teeth chattering have worn me out already.

I wake the others up when my stomach starts growling. There’s no imminent danger, so we move back to the place where we lit the fire last night. It is completely covered by snow – which, when you think about it, is a blessing and a curse – so we refill our water bottle, move back into the forest and eat our breakfast cold. Tiny snowflakes drift down all the while, landing in my hair or melting on my skin. As much as I hate the perpetual cold, the icy drops of water on my dirty face feel good. I haven’t bathed in forty-eight hours, and the effects are starting to rear their ugly heads at me. Begrudgingly, I consider the possibility of going insane if I don’t at least wash my face soon.

 _For shame, Thesia,_ I tell myself harshly. _Do you really want a shower when you might die today?_

I bury my empty acorn shells in the snow and wait for the others to finish their breakfasts. We’re in need of more food now, because we only have the bread and beef stew between us. I’m afraid that with the snow, the berries in the grove will be ruined. The acorns will be hidden as well, but with some digging we’ll be able to find them.

“Where do you propose we find a new place to camp?” Blaine asks Linden and me. “Where is there a spot with water for all of us?”

“The river is about half a mile that way,” I tell him, pointing north along the route we followed yesterday. “We followed that to the grove, until we saw the Careers. The landscape is exactly the same until the oak trees, like we told you. There’s not a ‘safer’ place to hide.”

“So if we go there, we need to be on the offense.” Olivia drums her fingers on her axe blade. I have a feeling she wishes she’d used it more than she has. If it was up to me, we’d stay here until we had to split up. I’m perfectly fine not going into more dangerous territory – let the others pick each other off, I say. “But I don’t think we can handle all of the Careers at once, unless we sneak up on them in the dead of night.”

“We need to figure out if they ever separate,” Pius suggests. “If they do it on a schedule, we’ll have no problem ganging up on the smaller group and taking their weapons.”

“I doubt they run on much of a schedule,” Olivia grunts. “But I agree. Our best chance would be to split them up. Somehow,” she adds.

“What do you think they would do if they saw one of us alone? If only one of them went to finish us off, we could have everyone else waiting for them…”

“Four of them were there when Otto killed Rose. I don’t think separating for the kill is really their style,” I remind him. At this point, our feeble plan of taking out the Careers one at a time seems to be dying slowly. “Besides, Otto had that mace. I’d bet any one of them has better weapons than we do combined.”

Olivia sighs. “So no matter what we do, we’re still basically outnumbered.”

There’s a soft crunch of snow behind me, barely audible behind the hoods of our snowsuits. I jump up and turn around, my knife in my hand, ready to attack. Byte stands a few feet away from us looking slightly green, her arrow loaded but pointed at the ground. She swallows and, sounding much more confident than she looks, says, “I could help you with that.”


	11. The Deal

“Why should we trust you?”

Though Olivia is standing behind me, I can almost picture her stance, her axe held between two hands and poised to attack. I am holding my own knives up, every muscle in my body tense. With every second that passes, Byte’s skin pales a little more, though she still holds her ground.

“You shouldn’t,” she answers feebly, “but if there were six of us we would have a better chance of killing one or two Careers at least.” She takes a wavering breath and, in a final effort to convince us of her temporary loyalty, says, “I know where their camp is.”

“Where?” I ask. Her gaze snaps to me, perhaps remembering the girl who offered to be her ally. I wonder if she is regretting her decision. It must have taken guts to show herself to a group of five armed people. Of course, she has the bow, which is still loaded but not pointed at us.

“There’s one place around the Cornucopia that the river doesn’t cut through. They’ve made up camp just outside of the river’s circle.”

Pius frowns. “How would you help us, though? No offense, but if there are six of them and six of us–”

“There aren’t six of them, though,” she says. “The boy from One never allied with them. I haven’t seen him since the bloodbath.”

I see someone shift on my right side. Linden has lowered his sword and is contemplating the girl in front of us. “So you propose we ally until we’ve killed off a few Careers and then go our separate ways.”

She nods.

“And you understand that if you break your word, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Again, she nods. Linden lowers his sword completely and looks at the rest of us, who still hold our weapons aloft. I don’t dare take my eyes off of Byte as he asks, “What do you think?”

“I think,” Pius says diplomatically, “that we should all lower our weapons and talk about this civilly.”

“ _Civilly_?” Olivia spits. “Pius, you can’t really mean–”

“I agree with Pi,” I say. I let my arms drop to my sides. It doesn’t feel right, really, to leave myself so open for attack, but I can’t kill Byte unless she tries to kill me first. “Put away your bow and we’ll talk.”

For a moment, Byte looks like she has changed her mind. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the bow more tightly, staring at me through narrowed eyes. After a few tense seconds, she loosens her hold on the bow and stows the arrow in her quiver. In response, I kneel down and stick my knives in the snow. I see Pius and Linden put away their weapons, and can only hope that Olivia and Blaine are doing the same.

Byte swallows and steps forward to join us. Her tiny feet make familiar imprints in the snow as she advances. It seems strange that she has visited many of the same places we have and yet we’ve never seen her face-to-face. Even now her cheeks seem more hollowed-out than they were during training, and there are dark gray circles under her eyes.

“What do you want to talk about?” she finally asks.

Linden steps away from me, making a gap big enough for her to join our circle. “Come and sit,” he says, dropping onto the ground. “Have you had breakfast?”

She watches him warily as she sits on the ground, but shakes her head. Her eyes sparkle hungrily. “I haven’t had much of anything besides nuts and pine needles.”

“Here.” He unzips his bag and hands her the meager remains of our second squash. “It’s not very good raw, but it’s food.”

As she wolfs down the squash, Pius and Linden take over as plan-makers. Olivia is sitting across from me, her arms crossed as she stares crossly at Byte. To be truthful, I’m amazed she hasn’t sunk her axe blade into the other girl’s neck and called it a day. Blaine, as usual, sits back and listens to the other boys as they talk.

“So you want to help us,” Linden says, leaning back on his hands. Byte nods and swallows her last mouthful of food. “And how do you propose we do this?”

“I’ve been watching the Careers since this started. They don’t separate unless they have to leave their camp. If they do, they leave someone to guard it. It’s usually that girl from Four – I think she’s pretty good at combat.”

“Why would they leave their camp, though? Don’t they have all the food from the Cornucopia?”

Again, Byte nods. “But they walk around the arena probably once a day, scouting for tributes. I don’t know if they will now, since it’s snowing. But they have to soon…”

_Or the Gamemakers will send us a nasty surprise_ , I think. Everyone knows that if a day or two goes by without any deaths, the eager viewers in the Capitol will start to get bored. And since that just can’t happen, the Gamemakers will send out vicious animals, severe weather, or natural disasters. I can only begin to fathom the things that could happen in this arena – a massive blizzard, another visit from the mutts, pine needles that turn into razor-sharp projectile weapons…and now that there are two large groups of tributes in the arena, our chances of staying intact much longer have decreased by more than fifty percent.

“Or we have to attack them first,” Pius cuts in.

Again with the attacking the Careers before they separate or try to attack us. I bite my lip. Back at home, when we were younger, Wart and I spent lots of time strolling through the streets of District 6 looking for fun. And though we got into all sorts of mishaps, there was one large difference about us: I was the worrier, and Wart would do anything that crossed his mind. If he suggested we climb onto a roof and spit on passers-by, I would come up with all the reasons that that was a bad idea. So Mother had a special nickname for the pair of us: Worrywart.  Now, as we talk about recklessly attacking a group of five teenagers who are better-supplied and more well-prepared than we, that old sense of worry starts creeping up on me again.

“What if we just waited near the forest’s perimeter until they split up?” I suddenly ask, cutting off any conversation I wasn’t paying attention to. All eyes are focused on me. “We could hide in the trees and wait until some of them leave and nick the smaller group.” It’s not much better, but it’s a plan that doesn’t involve stupidity and chances.

“And wait for the Gamemakers to blast us out of a tree?” Byte asks skeptically. One eyebrow is raised in my direction, no doubt wondering how long I’m going to last. I cross my arms and stare back at her. I’m tempted to snap back, but I don’t think I can come up with a sufficient enough reply.

“Doing something along those lines could be our best bet at finding them separated,” Pius says quietly. His eyes are slightly out of focus as his brain whirs around, trying to think of an adequate plan. “Byte, how good are you with those arrows?”

It takes her a moment to reply. “I could injure someone well enough from…I don’t know.” She studies her bow. “Ten yards away? If I was closer I could kill them. Why?”

Pius rests his chin on his clasped hands. “If we had a scout high up in a tree near their camp – probably Olivia, because she’s the smallest besides you – she could watch for a group of them to separate and signal to us. You could be waiting nearby – maybe in a tree, to be safer – and shoot whoever came.”

“What if she doesn’t kill them?” I ask.

“I could be waiting nearby,” Linden says after a slight pause. “In fact, the rest of us could be waiting nearby. If we had the sword, the axe, and the knives, we shouldn’t have a problem taking down an injured opponent.”

No one says anything for awhile. The thought is disturbing, but it’s all too quickly becoming a reality.

Finally, Olivia breaks the silence and asks, “So if I’m in the tree, I don’t get to keep my axe? Because if that’s the case, someone else can go spy on the Careers for us.”

We all look to Linden, whose original idea it was to split Olivia and her axe, for the answer. He hesitates, obviously not sure what to say, and shrugs. “I mean, it makes sense,” he mutters meekly.

Olivia lets out a short, clipped laugh. “Ha! You might as well ask Byte to give up that bow and arrow of hers. Or Thesia her knives. Unless I can have the axe, find someone else to go up in the tree.”

Across the circle, Blaine rolls his eyes as though to say, _It’s only an axe._ I smile at him and roll my eyes back. I completely understand why Olivia refuses to be separated from her axe, but it’s still a little ridiculous. She would have her axe back by the time the Careers were dead, and even if one of them got away with the axe I wouldn’t put it past her to jump down from the tree and kill them with her bare hands.

As we flesh out our plan, the snow falls in intervals of very heavy and light. I’m not sure what the Gamemakers are hoping to achieve by this, because all of this snow certainly doesn’t make us want to leave our camp.

At noon, we slice up the last squash for lunch. We don’t have any more food besides the beef stew and bread we collected from Matthias’ camp, but since the pickings are so easy at the grove, we decide to save that for later. This means that even with the snow blurring our vision, we need to head toward the other side of the forest. While Olivia and Blaine go to refill the water container, I stuff the sleeping bag into Linden’s backpack. The bottom of the yellow canvas is covered in sticky berry juice, and my white gloves come out of the bag with stained purple fingertips.

“Brilliant,” I mutter, bending down to wipe them off in the snow. I know that right about now, stained gloves fall into the same category of importance as taking a shower, but it’s just another irksome thing that I have to deal with. I can’t stand stained clothes.

“Well, look at the bright side,” Pius says suddenly. “At least your snowsuit isn’t covered in blood like half the people in our group.”

“Words of wisdom,” Linden remarks from above me. I look over at Pius, rubbing my fingertips together, and smirk. Trust Pius to find a bright side to this sticky, purple situation. Berry juice is one thing – someone else’s blood is another entirely. I hadn’t thought about it before, but when I glance at Byte, who is leaning against a tree a few yards away, I notice tears and dried bloodstains all over her snowsuit.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” I say, giving up on trying to clean my gloves and resting my arms on my knees. There’s a soft crunch, and I turn to see Pius, closer to me than before. His hood is dangling behind him, and the snow falling through the leaves lands on his pale hair, shrouding it in melting snowflakes. From below, it looks like he’s wearing a halo. He wordlessly extends his hand to help me up, and when I am once again standing I smile at him. “Thanks Pi.”

He grins back – and am I imagining things, or is his expression a little reserved? But the moment passes and he is back to regular Pius, who manages to look serious even when he’s smiling at me. “Of course,” he says, dropping my hand.

When Olivia and Blaine return from the lake, we start walking at a diagonal toward the field. I walk close to Pius, flanked in front and behind by Olivia, who takes the lead with her axe, and Byte, who is being closely guarded by all of us. Despite our temporary alliance, it’s obvious none of us trust her, and she doesn’t trust us. And why should we? She could easily kill two or three of us with that bow – just as easily as we could kill her while she sleeps. But I think, deep down, we know that it’s too big of a risk to do that.

For now.

Since we are going in a different direction than yesterday, it takes us closer to two hours to reach the oak trees. As expected, the acorns are buried under several inches of snow, so we each take a tree and start digging. The amount of snow that has fallen to the ground since last night, especially in the densely-green forest, is astounding. By the time my fingers scrape against hard-packed mud, I’ve made a good-sized hole and snow is falling into the gap between my gloves and my sleeves. From what I can see, there are no acorns on the ground. I start digging to the left, but the most evidence of an acorn I find is the cracked cap of a shell. Two minutes later, I know that this tree has already been swept. Just not by us.

“Any luck?” I ask the others, turning on my toes. While most of the others appear busy, Linden has given up and is leaning against his tree, tracing his finger absentmindedly in the snow.

“I didn’t find a single one,” he informs me. “You?”

I shake my head. That probably means that the Careers or the elusive boys from One and Ten have picked it clean – at this point, it seems highly improbable there were ever any animals in the arena to eat the nuts. And if it was the boys who took them all, it’s likely the thirteen of us are spread out in less than a one- to two-mile radius. Someone has to die soon.

Suddenly, Byte lets out a short laugh and raises her hand triumphantly. Pinched between her thumb and pointer finger is a wet acorn. “I found one!” she says proudly.

“Taste it,” Linden tells her without looking in her direction.

Byte throws him a strange look but opens the acorn nonetheless. She empties the nut into her hand and pops the flesh into her mouth. Two loud crunches later, she makes a face and spits the remains of the acorn onto the snow. “Ugh. Do they all taste like that?” she asks as she vigorously scoops a handful of snow into her mouth.

I sigh. “Of course not. That’s just not a good tree.”

After digging around the bases of thirteen more trees we are able to deduce that someone has indeed been through and picked all of the good acorns from the ground.

“How would they know to avoid the ones with tannin, though?” Pius asks, a little distressed. Sunset is drawing nearer and we haven’t found any more food. Our water supply is dwindling as well, and we don’t want to risk making too much noise by chopping a hole in the river until the death recap, when the loud anthem will cover most sounds.

“One of them probably dropped by the edible foods station in the training center.” I sigh. “You would think that after four years ago there would be _one_ sensible Career.” Four years ago, at the forty fifth Hunger Games, the arena had been a hot, barren wasteland of rock. There had been plenty of food to squabble over in the Cornucopia, but all of it was highly perishable and went bad after the first week. Three weeks in, most of the tributes had died or were dying of hunger, so a feast was called. Six of the seven remaining tributes arrived to kill each other over a can of oranges and a jug of water. The only tribute who stayed away was the boy from 11, who had lost his hand in the bloodbath. He had either known or discovered that the lichen that grew on the rocks was a reliable food source and an indicator of water. So while the girl from 2 killed four of her opponents to eat the oranges, he sat back in his oasis of lichen and spring water.

Guess who won the Games that year?

 “Yes, well, you can’t imagine they’d consider non-combative skills very useful, even after that,” Blaine says as he stands up. “I mean, if I had the pick of the weapons in the place…” He shrugs.

“Well, if all of the good acorns are gone, we might as well see what there is in the field,” Olivia mutters. Absentmindedly, she starts fiddling with the end of her braid as she looks to us for consent.

“What about the plan?” Byte asks.

“The plan didn’t have a strict start time,” Olivia answers quickly. “We can afford to lose another half an hour foraging for food.”

“And anyway,” Blaine pipes up, “it’s better if _we_ don’t separate. That’s the Careers’ job.”

Silently, I thank Olivia for postponing the start our grand scheme. The plan involves me camping out in one of the trees that are on the borderline of the forest, something I am not looking forward to. Though I am hardly the lightest of the group, Olivia refused to be separated from her precious axe and Byte plays too key a part to stay up in a tree. And, obviously, since I’m the only girl left, the boys made it a point to volunteer me as the best for the job. I have to watch the Careers’ camp until I see a group of them separate and start coming our way. Then I will drop acorns – one for each Career coming – to the ground, where Byte will wait with her arrows in the shadowy lower branches of a nearby tree. When they come within firing range, she’ll shoot at them and hopefully kill them before the rest of the group has to intervene and finish them off with their own weapons. While I have the least dangerous occupation, I will also be the most vulnerable since I’ll be thirty feet up in a tree with only my knives to protect me.

We trudge to the grove, keeping quiet for fear our opponents are close by. Through the thick line of forest, I can almost see the Cornucopia glimmering in the light of the sinking sun, which has reached its most blinding angle. The rays pierce the air, hurting our eyes, and I almost feel guilty as I slip my sunglasses on. They don’t do much to block the light, but they provide a little bit of relief.

At first glance, this part of the grove is not so different from the point we first discovered, which is several miles in front of us. Clumps of berry bushes and a thin, frozen branch of the river are interspersed on the flat ground. Everything is covered is snow now, though, and so it’s impossibly hard to locate anything edible. The more determined of us rake the bushes for what seems like hours – though the sun says less than an hour passes – while Pius, Blaine and I poke around trying to decide which pine tree looks the tastiest. Not surprisingly, when the six of us meet up again, the others are empty handed. Pius and I hold thin, jagged strips of pine tree bark while Blaine has his hands full with pine needles. Olivia turns her nose up when she sees us, and Byte looks less than convinced that you can actually eat what is essentially wood.

“It would be more bearable if we could start a fire,” I say, knowing that it is much too dangerous.

Linden purses his lips and says, “When we get back to the lake.”

“Hopefully by the time we get back _there_ ,” Blaine says in an attempt to be light-hearted, “we’ll have more to eat than this.”

We divide the bark and pine needles and decide that it would be safer to get into place after nightfall. Our dinner is as long and quiet as it is unbearable, though the pine bark does quell the irritated grumblings of my stomach. Then, we retreat into the somewhat sheltered forest and wait for darkness to come.

When it does, we start making our way towards the edge of the forest. According to Byte, the Careers are staying close to this spot, the only place where the river doesn’t form a ring around the inner arena. It takes a while to spot their tent against the white and blue background of the plain, but the second I see it I stop walking. There is a fire beside the tent, too far off to be heard, but I can’t see any people.

After moments of suspended silence, interrupted only by our short, scared breaths, Olivia whispers, “Byte, Thesia, and Pius, I think you should go on ahead.”

Pius, who will be spending the night in the lookout tree with me, nods and goes over to Linden, who wordlessly unzips his pack and hands him the bulky sleeping bag and coil of rope. As we slowly walk toward the perimeter of the forest, we keep our eyes out for any movement at all. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I finally see two figures sitting outside of the tent, bent close together. I grip the hilt of my knife a little tighter as we make our way toward a large beech tree with promising-looking branches.

I grab hold of the lowest-lying branch and hoist myself up, climbing until I’m about forty feet up in the air. A strange grouping of three branches looks like it could make as safe a bed as any, and through the leaves I can see the fire, larger now and reflecting off of a silver blade. I sit against the tree and look down. Pius is still a ways below me, struggling as the sleeping bag slips off his shoulder. I watch him until he’s reached me, panting a little. His breath makes large white puffs in the air.

“So how’ve you been, stranger?” he asks, so quietly I have to lean in to hear him. I’m a little confused before I remember it’s the first time we’ve been alone since the night of the interviews.

“Well, apart from the fact that I have no food and I’m being hunted like a wild animal…surprisingly good.” I shrug. “Our luck seems to have held out incredibly.”

He nods – at least, I think he does. His white hair and face bob up and down in the darkness, barely visible. “It’s a little worrying. Things can’t last like this forever.”

I sigh and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “What do you think we’ll do once this plan is over?” I ask.

Several seconds go by before he answers. “I don’t know, The. I guess it depends on how many people die before it’s over. But sooner or later, we’re going to have to leave the alliance.” His voice drops even more. “I don’t trust Olivia.”

Now it’s my turn to nod. “You have to wonder how long it’s going to be before she either leaves or kills us all.” Guilt stabs at my stomach as the words slip out of my mouth, but Pius is the only person who can hear me. Well, Pius and the rest of Panem. They won’t tell Olivia what I said.

“I don’t think she’ll do either, for a while,” Pius disagrees. I frown.

“And why don’t you think that?”

“It’s simple,” he answers. “She doesn’t know the first thing about wild food, especially in this.” He waves his hand around his head, gesturing at the cold air and the big, wide forest that contains no more food than it does warmth. “She needs us to survive; at least until sponsors decide to send her food or the Careers are all gone.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that before. If it’s true, it raises Pius’ and my worth to the other tributes substantially. Compared to any of them, we’re indispensable when it comes to gathering food. “Of course,” I add, as the thought enters my mind, “if all of the food is gone, we won’t be much use anyway.”

“Granted.” He leans back against the tree and looks up at the canopy of leaves sheltering us. “How long until the anthem?”

“A couple of hours.” I sigh. “It’s going to be a long night.”

We wait in the tree for an agonizingly long time, occasionally whispering or taking off our gloves to rub our cold hands together. My stomach starts grumbling sometime around five-thirty – surprisingly, bark is not all that filling.

The minutes drag on, agonizingly slow. Finally, just as I’m about to crack from boredom, music blares and the Seal of Panem lights up the sky. We can hardly make it out through the leaves.

While the music is at its loudest, Pius takes the sleeping bag from its cover and unrolls it. We had decided earlier not to unroll it until the noisy synthetic fabric can be quieted by the anthem. As it turns out, it was the right decision. I can still hear the _whoosh_ of the sleeping bag as it’s unfurled, but it’s not loud enough to reach the Careers’ ears. He’s just laid it out on the branches when there is a pause in the music. Since there were no deaths today, it only lasts a second. The anthem starts up again, and under the cover of noise we slip noisily into the sleeping bag, cursing the fabric, and settle into it just as the music finishes. The lower half of my back hangs suspended over forty feet of air, and my head has found the most uncomfortable part of the branch to rest on.

I hear a crunch below me and instantly freeze. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone move in front of the fire, toward our tree. My heart starts hammering in my chest.

“What is it, Kenzie?” someone – I think it’s Kyle – asks. I count eleven heartbeats before Kenzie answers back.

“I thought I heard something,” she says. Next to me, Pius clenches his fist. His ragged breath tickles my face as we wait for something to happen. Kenzie walks a few steps more, then thinks better of it and moves back toward the fire.

“That was close,” I whisper, inching my way further into the sleeping bag. My heart is still pounding, but the adrenaline boosted into my system is wearing off. We’re safe for now.

“ _Too_ close,” Pius answers. He sighs slightly and leans his head against mine. My stomach squirms uncomfortably. Here, under the sleeping bag, Pius and I are closer than we’ve been before. It’s different from the first night, when we had no blanket closing us in and I was so cold I didn’t care who I cuddled close to. The only thing I can think about is the fact that hundreds of miles away, Wart is watching us. Our parents are watching us. And that bothers me. Suddenly, the sleeping bag is too hot. I crawl forward, forcing my arms out of the bag, where they are immediately subjected to freezing air. Pius moves his head away, his eyes trained on the leaves above us. I blush and scramble for something to say; something, _anything_ to distill the awkward moment.

However, by some miracle, a silver parachute works its way through the leaves at just that moment. I sit up and reach my arms out to catch whatever is coming. It’s pale, ovular, and smells delicious. “Bread,” I whisper happily as its drops into my waiting hands. “Pi, look.”

It’s really no more than a roll, hardly enough to feed the two of us, but I immediately know who it’s from. It’s the same bread that I ate on the train; the same bakery stuff that I ate nearly every day growing up. It’s our district bread. Pi sits up and takes off his gloves. “What are you doing?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer, though, just takes the bread from me gently.

“It’s still warm, Thesia,” he says with a sigh. “Feel it.”

I do so, slipping my gloves off and placing my hands on the bread. It feels like it’s just come out of the furnace, and the warmth makes me so giddy I forget to be disgusted by the fact that we’re placing our hands all over our food. In fact, I’m so pleased that I stare at the bread for a good two minutes. Pius is just as entranced as I am.

Finally, a strong burst of wind brings me back to my senses. I blink, though it’s relatively useless in the dark, and whisper, “Do you think the others got any bread?”

“I don’t know. But you know what this means, Thesia?” He breaks off a piece of the bread and pops it in his mouth. “We actually have a sponsor.”


	12. The Scheme

When I wake up the next morning, Pius is still asleep. The snow stopped sometime last night, and rays of sunlight poke through the leaves, illuminating his face and our sleeping bag irregularly. A stray tuft of his hair that sticks out from under his hood glows white in the bright light. He looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him before.

Slowly, I sit up and work my way out of the sleeping bag without making too much noise. My feet catch on the rope that’s wrapped around the sleeping bag, which we used to tie ourselves to the tree with. Pius tied it tighter than I realized, and so my right boot nearly falls off in the process, but soon I’m sitting on a branch of the tree, grabbing the handful of bread from within the depths of the sleeping bag and ripping off a piece for breakfast. It’s so quiet and bright and actually a pleasant temperature for once. I wish it could stay like this forever.

Of course, it can’t. Pius wakes up a few minutes after I do, eats his own share of bread, and packs the few possessions we brought with us into the tree: the sleeping bag, the remains of its sack, the bread, and his knives. Just before he goes back down, he catches my eye and says, “Be careful, The.”

“You too.” I give him a hesitant smile.

He nods and mumbles, “I’ll be back up in a few minutes with your acorns.”

Acorns?

Oh, right. One of the most important factors of our plan is that I will have five acorns at the ready. When I see a group walking toward the tree, I’ll drop however many acorns there are tributes so that Byte will be prepared.

I crawl to the front of the tree and get as good of a view of the Careers’ camp as I can. Their tent is probably seventy feet from the tree line. Kenzie and Kyle have been replaced by Sylkie as guard. It doesn’t look like anyone is in the tent, though. The leaves block my view of most of the arena, which puts me on edge. Where are they?

Pius appears below me a few minutes later, five acorns in his hand. As he gives them to me, I ask, “Any news from down below?”

“They got two rolls from District Seven last night. I don’t know how we have that much sponsorship, but Linden thinks it’s because of our plan to attack the Careers.” He shrugs. “I don’t know – but Clover knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t give us something if he couldn’t afford it.”

I hope that much is true, at least. Clover isn’t stupid – he’s been mentoring kids like us for ten years. But where did he and the other mentors from Seven and Twelve get enough money to send us food when we didn’t _really_ need it?

To take my mind off of matters I can’t control, I ask, “Do the others know anything about the Careers yet?”

Pius frowns, trying to remember exactly what he told them. “I think they switch guards every twelve hours. And this morning, Blaine says he saw four of them heading south, toward the cliff. I don’t know what they’re doing, though – I’m convinced they don’t know where we were camping.”

“Huh,” I say. Are they going off the scout for more tributes? It’s the only logical explanation. They no doubt have plenty of food and supplies, and I’m sure they know that the five of us are – or were – allies. But no one died yesterday, and in an arena of twelve tributes, the chances of this quiet, sunny day lasting long are not high. “Anything else?”

“No.” Pius shakes his head. “You might want to move farther down the tree, though. There isn’t a clear shot down to the ground for you to drop the acorns.”

I do so, carefully climbing down the branches until I sit only twenty feet above the ground. I watch as Pius jumps down from the lowest branch and runs somewhere out of sight, no doubt where the others lie in wait. I can’t see Byte, but I know she is somewhere nearby as well, bow at the ready.

From here, I have a clearer view of the arena as a whole. The tent is still in the center of my vision, but I can see up until about twenty feet from the tree line. Beyond the tent I can just barely make out the plain and, to the right, the Cornucopia. Is it my imagination, or do I see fresh sets of footprints leading off to the plain? It couldn’t be; Pius said the Careers went off to the right.

I sit against the base of the tree for hours, staring at the landscape in front of me. Sylkie doesn’t move the whole time. When the sun has long since passed its noontime spot in the sky, my eyelids start to droop. They pop back open immediately, though, when I catch sight of movement out of the corner of my eye.

The four Careers who have been missing all day have arrived back at their campsite. They’re too far away for me to really see who is where, but I catch the gleam of Otto’s mace in the sunlight. Just seeing the weapon makes me think of Rose’s death; of her red-stained snowsuit and the Careers’ merciless laughter.

At the sight of the Careers, the very air seems to tense. Two of them sit down with Sylkie while the other two go into the tent and bring out food for them to eat. I watch for about ten minutes, my own stomach grumbling, and then see someone stand up. They turn to the person sitting next to them, who rises as well.

Then, they start walking toward my tree.

I act quickly, taking two of the acorns and dropping them, one at a time, on the ground. My stomach tightens as each one falls and lands on the snow. I can already hear the cannon shot ringing in my ears, though whose death it will signify I don’t know. My gaze shifts rapidly from the ground, where two dark shapes indicate the acorns, and the tributes. As they near us, one of them takes off her hood and shakes out her long, bronze, highlighted hair. Kenzie. No doubt, her companion is Kyle. They’re almost the exact same height. Kenzie holds an axe, similar to Olivia’s but much smaller. Kyle is in possession of a club.

When they exit my line of sight, my head snaps down. I’m so nervous my breath comes in quick, short bursts. Pius is down there, waiting to attack the minute Byte shoots her victims. I don’t want him to die.

Not yet.

When the pair appear in my line of sight, an arrow sprouts out of Kyle’s chest. He gasps, looking down at his chest while another one lodges in his temple. Kenzie jumps away with a squeal, but it’s too late. Kyle collapses on the ground, motionless, and a cannon shot goes off. Kenzie, terrified, looks around and catches a glimpse of what I assume is Byte. She turns around and runs for her camp. An arrow follows her, but I assume it misses its mark because Byte swears softly and runs to fetch her arrows.

I slide down the tree, landing on the ground with a soft thud. Kyle lies not five feet away, his chest stained with blood. It looks like a flower spreading out on his chest, the arrow its gruesome stem. Byte leans over him and plucks her arrow out of him.

“Grab his club, Thesia!” she snaps, nearly jumping up from the ground when she’s collected her arrows. I do so without hesitation, but when Linden appears from behind a tree, his sword drawn, I stop and look behind me. What I see makes me ten times more scared than I had been a minute ago. Kenzie is still running back to the camp, but her companions are running toward her.

And they have caught sight of us.

“Run!” Linden says, practically pushing me in the opposite direction. My feet pound on the snow, carrying me past Olivia and Blaine as we run for the other end of the arena. My blood is pounding in my ears; all I can see is Kyle lying on the ground. Dead.

We run until we can run no longer. Once, I trip on a tree root and pull my ankle, but Blaine pulls me up and forces me to keep on running. None of us save for Pius are in particularly good shape, and by the time we’ve reached safety even he is winded. I can barely breathe, and my ankle is twisted worse than I thought. It throbs even though I’m standing still. We have no clear idea of where we are – even the river has been abandoned in our mad dash.

“Are…they…following us?” Olivia pants. She is bent over, her hands on her knees, and she has carelessly dropped her axe on the ground beside her.

No one answers. We are too busy watching the surrounding forest, waiting for tributes to appear. But none do.

“I don’t think so,” Byte finally offers. She sighs and leans against a tree, still breathing heavily. “I think…they gave up chase.”

Gradually, my pulse slows and I catch my breath. The others are recovering as well, standing up shakily and warily glancing around us. At last, we’re all recovered enough to devise our next plan.

 _Plans_ , I think happily. _I could get used to living off of plans._

I love it. It’s just the way I prefer to think.

Our water container is bone dry; none of us has had an actual drink since last night – I haven’t had anything but bread and bark in the last twenty four hours and I’m starting to feel the effects. I scoop snow into my mouth like my life depends on it – which, actually, it does – and almost ask Linden to take Matthias’ bread from his backpack. It’s futile, though. We’ll probably eat it tonight.

As we walk to our little lake, I find myself relaxing a little bit despite my screaming ankle. We are all still on guard, but I think even Olivia is doubtful that we’re being followed.

We reach our lake as the sun is setting. By now, my ankle hurts so bad it’s nearly impossible to hide my pain from the others. Maybe when I’m on guard tonight I’ll quietly wrap it up.

Olivia has to break through the ice to reach the water. In our absence, the hole had frozen over. She dips the container into the water and, after it is filled, drops one of our last purification tablets into the water. I don’t want to wait for the tablet to start working, though – I’m parched. Soon, we won’t have to wait any more. It’s only due to our being so far from the lake since yesterday we have any tablets left; they’ll be gone by tomorrow.

I sit down in a small circle with the others while Linden takes stock of our supplies. We have almost a full loaf of bread thanks to the careful rationing of Linden, along with the fire-starting kit, medical kit, now-full water container, and the coil of rope.

“Do you think it would be safe to light the fire?” Blaine asks, shivering. I think the Gamemakers are letting up on the temperature, thanks to Kyle’s death, but that can’t last long. I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to control my own quivering, and wait for someone else to answer.

“Well…” Linden says hesitantly. I can see that the cold has won him over, though. “If they’re near, they’ll find us anyway.”

Not even Olivia objects to that. Blaine and I are unanimously volunteered to go search for firewood – which, in the current state of the forest, should be near-impossible to find. I grit my teeth and stand up, trying not to put too much weight on my ankle, but I must make a face because Blaine asks –

“You alright, Thesia?”

I smile at him and say, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Now that I’m on my feet, the pain is more bearable than that first, stabbing moment. I turn away from the others as quickly as possible without being conspicuous and walk alongside Blaine, who holds Linden’s sword over his shoulder. We’ve brought it along in case of the likely event that no branches have ever fallen on the ground in this place, because Olivia still refuses to give us her axe to cut down branches.

When we’re out of hearing distance of the others, Blaine at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “You know, you should get some snow on that as quickly as possible.”

Apparently, I haven’t been as inconspicuous as I hoped. “I know that,” I say begrudgingly. “But how do you?”

He shrugs. “A lot of accidents happen in the mines. My brother broke his leg last winter, when a shaft collapsed. The only thing the healer could do was set his leg and put snow on it. It’s…It’s District Twelve’s miracle cure.”

“You didn’t have any bandages or anything?” I ask, somewhat horrified. Even the poorest people in my district have access to the basic medical equipment. “Wasn’t there someone else who could have done more?”

“Of course we did, and of course there was. There’s an apothecary in the merchant part of town, but they’re too expensive for people from the Seam.” He stops to examine a branch, deems it too damp, and moves on to the next one.

“The Seam?” I ask. The term sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place a finger on where I’ve heard it before.

“The poor part of District Twelve,” he answers. “Ivy and I both grew up there; you can tell by this.” He points at his black hair, and I remember where I’ve heard someone use the word before. On the night of the reaping, Pius and I watched as two back-headed teenagers were selected to take part in the Games, and Aeolus said something about ‘the Seam.’

“Oh!” I say. “Yes; my escort told us about the Seam. We don’t have one of those in District Six.”

He looks confounded. “Don’t you? Why not?”

“Careful planning?” I venture as a guess. I find a branch that is relatively dry and beckon to Blaine. “I mean, of course the majority of us are poor, but there isn’t a termed section of town. You either have enough to eat or you don’t.”

We go to work sawing away at the branch with our knives, the sword proving itself useless, and Blaine says, “I’d never really thought there could be another district without a Seam. Except for the Career districts – but Six?” He shakes his head. “Are all the houses alike, or something?”

“Not at all,” I reply. We’re almost halfway through the thin branch now. “The further you get from town, the smaller the houses get – and the more Peacekeepers there are patrolling!”

“You have a lot of Peacekeepers, then?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “We just have the same amount that we’ve always had. They’re plenty mean, though, so it doesn’t really matter how many there are.”

Blaine laughs a little at this. I frown over at him, wondering what’s so funny, and he explains, “Peacekeepers are almost a joke in Twelve. They don’t ever enforce anything unless they have to – they almost enjoy the benefits of breaking the law as much as we do. My friend knows a man who will pay you for any kind of game you get in the forest outside of Twelve.”

“You have a forest? What for? Your export is coal.” This is confusing – why on earth would they have a forest? We don’t even have one in District 6, where countless medicines could be reaped from its branches.

“Oh, no,” Blaine says. He glances nervously overhead, and when he continues, his voice is oddly quiet. “You see, the power in Twelve is hardly ever on. The Capitol doesn’t care for us much, I suppose. So if you really want to, you can just find a weak spot in the fence when it’s not electrified and sneak out to get some extra food.”

My mouth drops open. The thought of sneaking under the fence and _surviving_ is preposterous. “But – sneak – how?”

At that moment, a large drop of snow lands on our heads. I jump back from the branch with a cry and look above me. There is nothing that it could have fallen from – the branches above us are completely bare. I know what made the snow fall, though. It’s a reminder from the Capitol not to talk about them _too_ badly or our homes _too_ much.

We’re quiet after that, but even a warning from the Capitol can’t erase what we’ve already said. As we collect the driest branches we can find, all I can think about is the fences in Twelve. People actually sneak _under_ them. They can escape to the outside world, enjoy food fresher than what they could get anywhere else. And the Peacekeepers buy food from them…I’ve only seen our Peacekeepers fire their guns a few times, but they threaten everyone who teeters on the edge of breaking the law. Once, Wart and his friends were put in the stocks all day for throwing rocks at animals over the fence. It must be nice, living in District Twelve, where the Peacekeepers are so lenient.

By the time we return to the camp with our arms full of branches, my ankle is only throbbing dully. It’s either getting better or I’ve grown so used to the pain it’s numbed itself. I can only hope I won’t wake up with a swollen, bruised ankle in the morning. I don’t know how long you’ll last in the arena with a sprain, but it can’t be more than a few days.

Once Blaine has a good-sized fire going, we give in and use our knives to open the two cans of beef stew. I have the idea of putting them close to the fire so they’ll warm up – it’s still too big to stick them in the embers – and Byte snaps a twig from a nearby tree and uses it to toast bread. In a few minutes, we have a delicious, warm feast spread out before us. I dip my toast into the stew, something my mother would never have let me done at home, and take a bite.

“Some Hunger Games,” Blaine says as he licks his fingers clean. “I’ve never had such good food in my life, except for the Capitol.”

As the others agree, I sweep my last piece of bread around the inside of the can. Splitting the meal between six of us meant that there wasn’t much food to go around, but it was so delicious – not to mention filling – that, at the moment, I don’t care. I wish we had more, of course, but it is infinitely better than another night of pine.

As the night draws on, the sky lights up and shows Kyle’s face staring placidly down on us. I shiver when I see his golden eyes staring down at me. He was the first person I ever saw die up close. There’s nothing quite like watching someone else’s body drop, vivacious one moment and lifeless the next.

And I wasn’t even the one to kill him.

After the recap, we slip into the forest and set up our camp. I lean up against a tree with uncomfortably gnarled roots and try to find a more comfortable position. Next to me, Blaine and Olivia settle down in the sleeping bag whilst Linden and Pius lie down on the cold, slushy snow. Byte chooses a spot a few feet away from us and unrolls her own sleeping bag. I watch her sadly, for tomorrow morning our alliance is over and we won’t meet on friendly terms again. Even if she keeps her distance, I like Byte. She’s smart.

Once everyone’s breathing has become quiet and steady, I unzip Olivia’s backpack as quietly as possible. Pius snorts loudly and I freeze, afraid that he’ll wake up, but then he turns over in his sleep and starts snoring. I sigh and take one of the silver parachutes from the bag. The group had apparently decided to keep them while I was on guard in the tree. Whatever their reason for doing so was, they’ll serve me a purpose now. I unzip Linden’s bag next, opening the medical kit and taking the gauze out. I wish I had something sturdier to wrap my ankle with, but I don’t want to risk using my socks or underwear to do the job.

I’ve wrapped sprains before. Oftentimes, it was because of my adventures with Wart. Despite all of my worrying, he hurt himself much less than I did, and I was never quick to tell Mother about it for fear she would punish me. All it takes is an elastic bandage and a strong hand. I take my boot off and wrap the gauze as tightly around my ankle as I can without ripping the flimsy material. It doesn’t make a noticeable difference, but at least it’s something. Then, I fill two of the parachutes with snow, prop my foot up on my empty shoe, and ice my ankle for the remainder of my watch.


	13. The Flower

The morning of my fifth day in the arena begins with a glob of watery snow falling on my face. I sit up slowly, wiping it from my eyes and examining the space. All around, snow is melting, falling from trees and trickling towards the lake. Blaine kneels in front of me, examining something. No one else is in the camp; a quick look around reveals that they’re by the lake, rekindling our fire from last night.  
“Where’s Byte?” I ask, noting the absence.  
“Gone,” Blaine replies curtly, not at all surprised to find me awake. “Thesia, look at this.”  
I crawl forward, wincing when too much weight is put on my sprained ankle, and sit down next to him. He’s looking at a spot where most of the snow has already cleared away, revealing ugly brown mud. In the middle of that mud is a flower that seems to have popped up overnight, small and red. It has no place in this unforgiving atmosphere – and yet, by some Gamemaker design, it is here.  
“What is it?” I ask stupidly.  
“A flower,” he says slowly, and inquisitive furrow to his brow. He’s wondering why I would ask such an obvious question. “Don’t touch it though; I’m sure it’s poisonous.”  
No doubt.  
“Where did it come from?”  
He shrugs. “I have no idea. I woke up this morning and Linden pointed it out to me. I’ve been staring at it ever since, trying…I don’t know. It’s like I want it to tell me why it’s here.”  
Though his words are absurd, I know what he means. Everything about the flower – its position, its color – disconcerts me. It’s like a warning from the Gamemakers – but what kind of warning?  
“You two!” Linden calls us over with a quick wave of his hand. “Breakfast is ready!”  
“Breakfast? I thought we didn’t have any food,” I say to Blaine as we walk over to the fire.  
“We don’t,” he answers simply. I frown and look to see what could possibly need a fire to make. The tin cans from last night’s stew sit in the embers of the fire. They are filled with boiling water and what looks like chopped up greens. I wrinkle my nose.  
“What is it?” I ask. Olivia gingerly takes a can from the fire and sticks it in the snow. The only thing this accomplishes is melting the snow even more quickly.  
“Pine needle soup with extra-chunky bark,” she says as she quickly puts the second can in the snow. “As soon as it’s cool we can drink up.”  
Pine needle soup. With boiled bark. Delicious. I sit down next to Pius and accept water from the container. His eyes are ringed with dark circles and his cheeks have the hollow, malnourished look they had almost lost in the Capitol. I wonder how I am holding up – in this cold weather, I haven’t had a chance to see how much my bones stick out, and of course I haven’t seen myself in a mirror since the morning the Games started. Whatever I look like, it can’t be good. When I look at the others, they seem more tired and hungry than I’ve seen them before. I want sponsors to send us food – but I don’t want it too quickly. When I think about it, we had the best meal of our lives in the arena last night, and with the melting snow we can go back to the field and look for more food. We still have days, maybe weeks left in the arena. And who knows how long the field will sustain all of us?  
When the “soup” has cooled enough, we take turns passing the two cans around. The soup is bitter and sharp-tasting, but the bark turns out to be easier to swallow boiled. As I choke the stuff down, I have to admit myself that I have had worse meals.  
When breakfast is over with, we move at a slow diagonal toward the back corner of the field. None of us feels comfortable staying in this part of the arena with Byte and her bow on the prowl, even if we’ll probably return at nightfall. And we figure that if there is any food in this arena, it’s got to be at the field or somewhere we haven’t looked yet. I momentarily think of the plain that I’ve never stepped foot on, and what could grow there, but I force the thought out of my head. To get there, we’d have to reveal ourselves to the Careers.  
When we reach the field, the sun is at its peak. I had woken up later than I realized – not that it mattered. I was actually glad of the opportunity. But despite the ice I put on it last night, my ankle hurts so badly I don’t want to walk anymore.  
The snow is melting here, too, even more quickly than in the forest because it has direct contact with the sun’s rays. All around, little bits of green reveal themselves through the stark white of the snow. My eyes land on a spot a few feet away, and immediately my stomach clenches. Unreasonable fear grips at my insides, for here in the middle of the field there is another blood red flower.  
Another subtle warning.  
“Blaine,” I whisper, pointing slightly. He is the only one who notices my whisper, and when he sees the flower his face pales considerably. He doesn’t say anything, though, for the others are still close at hand. There’s no need to alarm them just yet.  
Besides, I think to myself, it could just be a winter flower that I don’t know about.  
But I know that that is irrational; untrue. I know almost every winter flower, and not one of them look like that.  
We decide to separate and search the field from top to bottom – or at least as much as we can. Linden and I are once more placed together in the superstitious hope that our luck will hold true and we’ll find another string of edible somethings. Since our group is smaller than the other, we take the back half of the field, closest to the gray cliff. The spot we choose is farther back than where we found the squash vine, which I hope increases the chances of untouched food.  
Much like the rest of the field, clumps of berry bushes dot the landscape, sometimes making it near impossible to walk. Linden and I weave around the thicker clumps, brushing the remaining slush off of the bushes to look for berries.  
“Poisonous,” I say as I uncover a bush with bright red berries.  
“This too,” he replies.  
I sigh and look around us, squinting despite my sunglasses. Most of the bushes behind us show telltale signs of our search – hastily wiped off snow and the occasional snapped branch. We have yet to stumble across another vegetable patch, though with the weather all of the plants are probably dead.  
Linden brushes off another bush and sighs when he sees the red berries on it. Dejectedly, he sits down and snaps off a berry. He pinches it in between his thumb and forefinger before crushing it. “You know, red was Alder’s favorite color.”  
I’m about to ask who Alder is before I remember the original tribute from District Seven – the boy Linden volunteered for. I sit down next to him and ask, “Your brother?”  
He nods.  
“You must love him a lot to have volunteered for him.”  
With a sigh, he says, “I did – do. Our parents died when I was seven – he was only four – and we didn’t have any other family who could take care of us. So we went to the community home, and he…” He pauses and looks up at the sky. “He is the most important part of my life. I’m everything to him, and when he got called up to go to the Hunger Games, I panicked. I knew he couldn’t make it, and I knew that if I lost him I wouldn’t have anything left. So I volunteered for him. The second I did it, I wondered why I was doing it. But I know I made the right choice. It might have been different if our parents were still alive, but…” He shrugs. “I wish he didn’t have to watch me in the Games, but it’s so much better than me watching him.”  
For a minute, neither of us says anything. Then, feeling oddly sentimental, I admit, “That’s why I wanted you as an ally.”  
He looks at me and frowns. “Because of my brother?”  
“Because you volunteered for him. I have a brother – two, actually – but this one’s just a year older than you. And after I was chosen, the first words he said to me were, ‘I would have volunteered for you if I could.’ So when I saw you volunteer for Alder…I don’t know. It reminded me of Wart.”  
After I say that, I feel a pain in my chest and my vision goes blurry. Oh no. I can’t be crying – not now. And especially not in front of Linden. We just shared incredibly personal things with each other, and that is about as far as I’m willing to go emotionally today. So quickly, I stand up and turn away from him before wiping my eyes.  
“We should keep looking,” I say hoarsely, attempting to keep my voice as normal as possible. “We don’t want the others finding more food than us, do we?”  
“Wait, Thesia.” I hear Linden jump up. He puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me around. I’m thankful that I’m wearing sunglasses or he would be able to see my red eyes. “Thesia…if I don’t get home and you do, tell Alder I love him. And promise me you’ll help him if you can.”  
I scoff, sniffling, and say, “I’m not going home, Linden.”  
“But if you do,” he persists, not letting go of me.  
“If I do,” I promise. “You’ll do the same for me, won’t you? To all my family.”  
He drops his arm and echoes, “I’m not going home, Thesia. I’ve known that for a while now.”  
***  
We don’t find much food that day.  
After hours of searching, we are able to produce a few handfuls of berries. Most of the other vegetables we come across are too rotten to consider eating just yet. When we meet up with the others, we find that they had a little bit more luck than we did. They managed to uncover a winter squash that was overripe but not revolting.  
I look at the squash worriedly. It almost seems like the Gamemakers want to starve us into hunting each other down for food. Or make us so hungry we go insane, which would surely make for interesting television. I just hope that the lack of gifts is due to careful planning by our mentors rather than sponsors’ lost interest – if that’s the case, our group is hopelessly lost.  
Having had nothing more than a few berries and the soup this morning, we’re more than a little hungry and grumpy. Blaine suggests we make camp just inside of the forest, and no one objects – especially not me. My ankle doesn’t hurt as much now, but it still throbs lightly. Olivia gives in and makes a hole in the ice here, using the last of our water purification tablets to quench our thirst. I don’t think the lack of tablets matters, anyway – Byte’s been drinking from the water for days and, last I checked, seemed fine.  
I lean against a tree with my disgustingly squishy slice of squash, reminding myself every few seconds that I have to eat it or I’ll starve. As it slides down my throat, my eyes land on a spot of uncovered mud.  
In the middle of it is a red flower.  
***  
When I wake up the next morning, almost all of the snow is gone. Damp and mud have taken hold of the arena, evidenced by Linden’s muddy cheek lying next to mine. I crawl out of the sleeping bag as gracefully as I can, wincing every time my snowsuit touches the ground, and straighten up.  
Olivia and Pius are leaning against a tree, talking quietly. I walk over to them and Pius smiles. “Good morning, Thesia.”  
“’Morning, Pi,” I say. “Good morning, Olivia.”  
When a few minutes have passed without Linden or Blaine stirring, Pius and I go in search of breakfast. We have a few berries left over from last night, but they’re hardly enough to feed five of us. The lack of food in the arena worries me, but I keep telling myself that there has to be food somewhere. The Gamemakers wouldn’t let us starve.  
Would they?  
We go into the field and pick a few more berries, getting a little closer to the high gray cliff than yesterday. Here, the bushes are more abundant, though we still haven’t found any food bigger than a bead.  
“I wonder if there’s a way over those cliffs,” Pius says distantly.  
I squint up at them, inconspicuously taking all weight off of my ankle, which is only marginally better. The cliffs are so steep and smooth – the perfect Gamemaker creation. “I guess it depends on if there’s anything beyond the cliffs. Like…” Like food. But I shake the idea from my head. Other than the caves, we haven’t found any way up the cliffs. They could just be a conspicuous end to the arena.  
We go on picking berries and even find a few shriveled roots, but I can tell Pius is still fixed on the cliffs. Every few minutes, his head tilts toward them. A few times, he gets so lost in thought I have to tap him to get his attention.  
“Pius!” I snap the third time it happens. Annoyance prickles at my insides. He jumps slightly and turns around.  
“I’m sorry, The. I just…” He shakes his head. “Don’t you think that it’s at least worth investigating?” His eyes are still a little clouded over. He hasn’t quite left his reverie. I sigh. I do think it’s worth investigating – it would at least give us something to do. But the chances that there is food beyond the cliffs – if we can even find a way over them – seems so remote the logical part of my brain wants to forget the thought.  
“I don’t know, Pi,” I say. “Let’s get back to camp and we’ll ask the others.”  
He nods and starts walking. It’s easy to find our way back to camp because our boots have left deep prints in the mud. I frown, worried that if it was so easy for us to find them it can’t be much harder for someone else – the Careers, say – to track us back to our camp. When we leave today, we’ll need to walk on the iced-over river to cover our tracks.  
After breakfast, Pius tells the others about his theory. They seem interested at first, but as he explains his long-winded reasoning they start to lose their attention. Pius notices and draws his speech to a halt. “So I think that if we could find a way over the cliffs, we’d have enough food to last us a lifetime.”  
Olivia digs her finger into the dirt and says, “It seems pretty unreasonable, Pius. I haven’t seen a single way up or around those cliffs.”  
“And what if we got to the top only to find that it was just the end of the arena, or that there was no way down?” Blaine adds. “I think it’s too big of a risk.”  
Pius frowns, frustrated. “But we haven’t found enough food to go around since it started snowing. The Gamemakers wouldn’t starve us – I don’t think.” He hesitates, fumbles for an argument, and says, “Isn’t it at least worth trying? We don’t have anything else to do in here besides search for food that doesn’t exist.”  
“And stay away from the Careers,” Blaine points out. “What if the way up the cliffs is in their line of sight? We’ll be walking targets.”  
With a sigh, Pius gives up. “Fine. I suppose we just have to rely on our sponsors for food, won’t we?” He looks at the sky and cries, “A little help, here?”  
“Pi!” I whisper hurriedly. “Don’t talk so loudly.” Already, my ears are perked, waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps.  
We decide to make our way back to the pond at around noon. We don’t have any logical reasoning in this, but it gets us farther away from the Careers and gives us something to do. It’s amazing how bored I am sometimes – you would think that a battle to the death would be full of excitement and fear. But really, I actually want something to happen now. The Gamemakers are bound to intervene soon – there hasn’t been a death since Kyle’s two days ago.  
When we reach the lake, we replenish our water supply. Olivia starts the fire up again and makes us the disgusting, watery soup we had for breakfast yesterday. She tosses the remaining berries in for good measure and we take turns sipping it down. I would much rather be eating something else – anything else – but I haven’t had a proper meal in what seems like days.  
We lie low until the death recap and then go farther into the forest than we’re used to to make camp. We don’t want to risk anything with Byte hanging around.  
I have first watch tonight, and I’m grateful for it. I’ll get a better night’s sleep if I have to stay up late – and as of late we’ve stopped waking everyone up the moment the sun shines through the trees. I sit against a thin, straight pine, sighing as pressure is taken off of my healing ankle. Beside me, Olivia and Blaine get in the sleeping bag while Pius and Linden lie on the dry ground. For a few minutes, Pius watches the sky with a faraway look in his eyes. Then, he turns his face toward me and lies down. It’s too dark to see his expression, but I like to think that it’s a smile.  
Sometime around one, I switch with Linden and drop my head onto Pius’ shoulder. Sleep comes quickly, and soon I start to dream.  
I’m in a field full of pastel flowers – roses, pansies, violets. I’m no longer wearing my dirty arena clothes, but an airy, blue dress that floats in the wind. People are standing on the other side of the field, and somehow I know that it is my family – that I have to reach them as quickly as possible. I start running toward them, but with every step I take they drift farther away.  
“Wait!” I call desperately. My breath is already short and ragged. “Wait for me!”  
“You won’t ever see them again,” someone next to me says. I turn around and see Linden keeping pace with me, but his strides are long and graceful. He isn’t wearing his arena suit, either – he’s dressed in a green shirt and brown pants. He looks like Linden might look in District Seven, but there’s something wrong with his eyes. They’re black, with blooming red irises.  
“Linden…” Suddenly, I’m afraid of him. This isn’t the real Linden. The real Linden is with my family, on the far side of the field. “Go away!” I cry.  
“You can’t escape this, Thesia,” he says. “You knew you never could.” He grabs hold of my wrist and stops me in my tracks. His grip is so tight it hurts.  
“Linden!” I pull my wrist away, but he only clutches it harder.  
“You can’t escape,” a girl says. I whip around and see Byte – but she is prettier than the real Byte; shapely and prim. And her eyes…I blink and shake my head. My pulse is racing now. I have to get away from these people. I rip my arm away from Linden, but he is no longer there. The stem of a flower has taken its place. It curls up my wrist, squeezing the life out of my arm. It stops as it reaches my elbow and sprouts a blood red flower that laughs at me.  
I yelp and rip the flower off my arm, and as I do so Byte lets out such a blood-curdling scream that I wake up, panting.  
Something is wrong. The others are up, scrambling to get backpacks on their backs or roll up the sleeping bag. The pressure I felt on my arm was Pius shaking me awake. He sounds desperate as he whispers, “We need to get away, Thesia.”  
The tone of his voice frightens me all over again. Nearby I can hear heavy feet crashing through the forest and a lighter, quicker sound of frightened breath. I jump up and start running just as Byte appears looking more scared than I’ve ever seen her. She has almost reached us when, from the confines of the forest, the biggest cat I’ve ever seen pounces on her.


	14. The Wait

Byte screams as the thing converges on her and snaps her neck. I wince at the cracking sound, my heart pounding in my ears, and a cannon fires in the distance.  A second cat appears from nowhere and pinpoints us. It’s not really a cat – it’s bigger, tougher. A mountain lion. A ten foot tall mountain lion. It’s hard to make out in the darkness, but what I do see – the flash of a fang, huge feet that leave inches-deep imprints in mud, a rippling golden coat covering supple muscles – terrifies me.

“Up a tree!” Olivia screams as she scrambles for the nearest one. We all dash for the nearest branch. I run for the tree Blaine is climbing, barely noticing my throbbing ankle. I can hear the mutt behind me, ready to pounce and kill me like its companion killed Byte.

I grab onto the tree branch and heave myself up, climbing as fast as I can. It’s not fast enough though. I was the last person in a tree, and the mutt has locked its attention on me. There is a moment of silence as it launches itself on the ground, and then pain erupts down my back; a pain so intense I scream and nearly fall. The thing rakes its claws down my back, tearing several deep gashes in my flesh.

“Thesia!” Pius yells. A hand grips the hood of my suit and pulls me upward. I try to get a handhold, but my hands are slick with blood. Blaine does not give up, though. He pulls me up as best he can, not stopping until we’re out of the creature’s reach. I fall over two close-lying branches and pant, trying to hold back tears of pain. My back feels like it’s been sliced into ribbons.

And still, the mutts prowl. The first one is apparently finished with Byte, because it has found the tree where Olivia hides and scratches at the base. I can see the second one circling our tree, but it seems reluctant to climb.

We wait for what seems like hours, silent and scared, until the sun peeks through the trees and the mutts run off, growling angrily. As soon as they are gone, a hovercraft appears and pulls Byte’s mutilated body into its belly. When it’s gone, the air is deadly silent. I’ve been lying in the same position the whole time, in too much pain to move. My cheek is pressed against a sharp edge of bark. The blood from that wound seems to mingle with the flow of blood from my back. The scratches haven’t stopped bleeding yet, and I’m beginning to feel faint from blood loss.

“Are they gone?” I whisper faintly. I want them to be gone so badly; I’m closer to death than ever before and I never want to see them again.

“Think so,” Blaine replies. I can’t see him, but his voice catches a little bit. “Thesia, your back…”

I bite my lip. “Is it bad?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“Let’s get the others,” he replies. A frightened tear slips down my cheek. Am I dying? I have no idea how much blood I’ve lost. I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not in this way. I’m scared now – Blaine’s tone of voice made everything too clear. “Do you think you can move?”

“Yes.” Slowly so as not to get dizzy and fall, I push myself up. Fire shoots up and down my back the moment I move, but I have to get down to the ground. The medical kit is there…I hope.

Blaine stays next to me as we descend, and it’s a good thing. We’re probably thirty feet above ground – I was in too much pain to notice how high we were last night – and several times I almost black out. The branches twirl underneath me, threatening to pitch me off, but Blaine gingerly grabs me every time I stumble.

The lowest branch is about five feet off of the ground. Blaine looks around to make sure the mutts are gone, and then jumps down. He turns around and holds his arms out to me. “Jump and I’ll catch you.”

I tumble more than jump out of the tree, but I’m too far gone to care. Blaine catches me under the armpits and steadies me. It’s hard to focus on him while he says, “I’ll go get the others. Can you stand?”

“I…think so,” I say. He lets go softly. I teeter on my feet for a few seconds before slumping forward. I hit the ground hard – and the dirt feels so cold against my cut cheek…

“Thesia!” Pius screams from somewhere above me. Branches and leaves crash together for about a minute before someone lands on the ground. Two people follow him and run over to me. I can see their feet, see one of them – Pius – kneel down next to me; feel his hand running just above my back. “The mutt got her?”

“It nearly took her down with it,” Blaine says.

“How bad is it?” Olivia asks.

I frown. I’m only half-conscious, but they should be able to tell how bad it is – I’m soaked in blood and fainting. Isn’t that bad enough? I don’t want to speak, but after several more comments I say, “Get the medical kit.” My voice is surprisingly sharp. It cuts their conversation in half and they all look down at me.

“The?” Pius asks concernedly.

“Get…the…kit,” I press. Pius will know what to do once he opens it and sees the needle and thread. I cringe at the thought of stitches, but it’s the only chance I have of survival.

They’re arguing now. Sure, their voices are low whispers, but I catch snippets of their conversation.

“…won’t make it…”

“We can’t just…”

“…make us slow…”

“…do it by myself if none of you will help me,” I finally hear Pius saying angrily. “But I can’t stitch her up like this. I need to clean it first.” He bends over me again and asks, “Can you get up?”

I close my eyes and sigh. The last thing I want to do is get up. I want to stay here and go to sleep – no. I can’t do that. “Help me,” I say. Hands gently support me as I stand, doing my best to ignore the pain in my back and the dizzy blackening of my vision. I can see the lake from here, but it’s hardly more than a small patch of ice. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other until I’m just a few feet from the edge. Then, I stop and close my eyes again. I’m panting now – I’m going to die. I know it.

Cold hands touch my chin and unbutton my hood. I jump and open my eyes. It’s Pius. No one else is around. He moves on to the zipper and slides it down. Cold air slams my chest like a train going full speed. What is he doing? Why –

I yelp when the fabric and my skin are separated. Dried blood glued them together, and now my back feels raw again. “Sorry, Thesia,” he says. “We have to get these off of you.”

Oh. Of course – he can’t stitch my back up if I’m wearing three layers of clothing. But is he going to take everything off? I recoil as I slip my arms out of the snowsuit. I don’t want him to – not when the cameras are certainly trained on us, watching our every move.

Pius struggles to keep me upright as he takes off my snowsuit and boots. Though I’m more aware of the chilly air as it brushes against my raw back, my vision flashes in and out of darkness. I’m nauseous and my throat is dry.

“Water?” I ask.

Pius helps me stumble closer to the lake. I collapse onto my knees, plunging my bare hand into the ice-cold water, and gulp it down eagerly. I feel a little ill when I’m done, but the water has helped. I take the long-sleeved shirt off just as the wind picks up, and the hairs on my arm stand up.

Pius laughs nervously. “Cold?” he asks.

“Mm.” I close my eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I take the undershirt, which is now little more than bloody rags, off. The only thing covering my chest is the shredded brassiere, but I’m too far gone to care. Something cold and slimy presses against my skin; I realize that I’m lying face-down in the mud. I try to push the thoughts of eager Capitol citizens – and, worse, my family and friends – watching this torturous form of humiliation from home. I just hope I don’t have to take the brassiere off – I might, I think spitefully, rather die.

Once again, I notice how cold the ground is. I’m glad there’s not snow or I would be in danger of getting frostbitten. Now, it almost feels good. Or maybe I’m too numb and senseless to care.

To clean my back, Pius pours freezing ice water over me and dabs at the wound with the undershirt to clear the blood away. I know he’s being as gentle as possible, but it’s still almost unbearable. The water dulls the pain a little but burns when it touches my skin. The antiseptic is almost as bad, but at least it’s not freezing cold.

“How bad is it?” I ask, hoping I’ll get a better answer than Blaine gave me.

For a few moments, Pius doesn’t say anything. Then, “The mutt might have nicked a few of your ribs. You’re lucky he didn’t puncture anything.”

I stare at the ground. My back’s not the only numb thing anymore. If the wound’s that bad, I won’t make it much longer. Maybe I’ll be dead by tonight – before I’m done being stitched up. Maybe I’ll faint from blood loss and won’t even know it’s over. Or maybe I won’t die that quickly. The others will decide that I’m too much of a burden and abandon me, or kill me off to end my misery.

Pius snaps me out of my miserable thoughts by kneeling beside me and saying, “Are you ready, Thesia? This will hurt.”

“I’ve had stitches before,” I lie. “Just do it.”

The first few times he sticks the needle under my skin, I squirm so badly he makes he has to hold my shoulders down. The pain is like getting a shot over and over and over again. There are seven slashes that run from my shoulder blades to my hip on the right side of my back. When it’s halfway over, I’m more unconscious than awake. I just want it to be over.

After what seems like hours, I realize the steady, sharp tugs have stopped. Pius wraps gauze around my torso to protect the stitches, then sews the back of my snowsuit together in a few places. We slip a few feet into the forest to hide from whatever may come, and I’m at last allowed to sleep.

 

When I wake up, the others are sitting in a circle next to me. I’m lying board-straight on the ground, my uncut cheek pressed against the hard dirt. My back feels raw and swollen, but as far as I can tell I’m not bleeding anymore. Carefully, I push myself into a sitting position and nearly black out. Then, my stomach grumbles and I realize I haven’t eaten a good meal in several days. I need to eat something fast or my already low blood sugar level will plummet and kill me faster than the wounds.

The others are all staring at me, and a second’s glance at Pius tells me I have been the subject of their conversation for quite a while.

“So,” I say matter-of-factly, pushing myself into the circle, “am I going to be abandoned in the woods with only my knives for protection?”

Linden looks at me awkwardly and says, “No…” He hesitates and adds, “Not yet.”

“The general consensus is that as long as you can hold your own, you can stay,” Pius says, a little more gently. He glances at Olivia, and I think I can guess what he means by _general_. “If not…we haven’t decided.”

An uncomfortable silence descends on us, broken by Blaine turning to me. “How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

I shrug, which is a mistake. The tight skin on my back pulls apart uncomfortably – but, thankfully, it doesn’t break. I wince. “I, ah…better. What time is it?”

“From what we can guess, just before sunset,” Linden replies, looking at the sky.

With a soft _thud_ , a basket with a silver parachute lands on the ground. Our eyes immediately and simultaneously snap to it, eager. While the others converge on the package, I hang back, just as eager as they are but not so willing to make quick movements. Olivia laughs as she rips the top off and exclaims, “They’ve sent us food!”

With as much self-control as I can manage, I walk slowly over to the group. They’re examining the contents of the basket like greedy children, laughing when they pull out a loaf of bread and not one but _two_ juicy cuts of beef. Followed by that are five small, piping hot potatoes and five boiled eggs. My mouth waters just looking at the food – it seems like so long since we’ve eaten anything; at the smell of the meat my stomach gives out a painful, hungry growl.

For rationing’s sake, we decide to eat the beef for dinner – the cuts are so big it will fill us all, and they aren’t going to last long without an ice box. Everything else I carefully pack back into the basket for future meals.

Pius cuts the steak into five even pieces each and hands them out. I eat slowly, taking a bite and chewing and swallowing and waiting a painfully long time to bite into the meat again. It’s the perfect blend of salty and spicy – just like Mother made it whenever we had it at home. I can almost see my family sitting around the dinner table, laughing as we eat the butcher’s best meat and talk about our days. Mother, always prim and proper, cuts the smallest pieces while Wart makes them so big he can hardly fit them in his mouth. At the sight of him trying to gulp the steak down we fall into fits of laughter – even Mother, who chastises him as her cheeks turn red from laughing.

My eyes burn when I’m done imagining this scene. For a moment, I had seen my family so vividly it was like they were here with me. I want them to be here – no, I want to be with them, wherever they are. I miss them so badly it hurts, and I’m probably never going to see them again.

 _No, Thesia_ , I remind myself. _You’re_ never _going to see them again._

Someone scoots closer to me and I have to blink to make the tears go away. It’s Pius, of course. “How are you feeling, really?” he asks in low tones.

“Like my back has just been torn open and stitched back together – oh wait. It has,” I say, attempting to push away any worries he has about me. “I’ll be fine if I lay low for a couple of days.”

He gives a little sigh – like he doesn’t believe me – and says, “The others want to abandon you.”

His voice is so low I can barely hear him; he doesn’t want the others listening in on our conversation, though. I see Olivia, who’s talking to Linden and Blaine in equally hushed voices, shoot us a quizzical look. “Can you blame them?”

“I’m sorry.” Absentmindedly, the fingers of his right hand start twisting the ring on his left. It’s covered by his gloves, but I know that’s what he’s doing.

“It’s fine,” I say, putting a light hand on his shoulder. “At least I’m still alive, right?”

The anthem starts playing overhead and we walk into the lake clearing to look at the sky. It’s pointless since we know that Byte is the only face in the sky tonight, but I at least go to glimpse that small pocket of civilization over our heads.

When we go to sleep, Olivia turns away from me but doesn’t lie so far away. After a few minutes of noisy, slow experimentation I decide that the only way I can possibly sleep is on my stomach – which is unfortunate, since I’ve always hated doing that. I lie with my arms at my sides and my head turned towards Blaine, who sits as guard.

It takes a long time, but eventually I fall asleep.

The next morning, I notice a definite change in temperature. It had almost been pleasant since the snow melted, but now it’s bitterly, bone-chillingly cold. I cross my arms against the air and wait until the sun is high in the sky to wake the others up. We’re all still recovering from the events of yesterday morning – especially me. Besides, it’s not like we’re going to do much today. I think there was enough excitement yesterday to give us a few hours of rest, at least.

Everyone groans when they realize how cold it is. “I think we can expect some snow today,” Linden says downheartedly. “And to think, the weather was almost enjoyable.”

We all roll our eyes and divide the eggs between us. They’re not warm anymore, but they’re cooked and salted so perfectly it hardly matters. I want to eat the potatoes as well, but Olivia says that that would be stupid and immediately changes the subject.

“I think,” she starts, “that we should go scout the Careers again.”

“What?” Pius asks in half-disbelief.

“You heard me,” she answers. “We need to do _something_ if we don’t want a repeat of two nights ago. If we’re lucky we’ll take a few of them down and call it a day. All we need to do is wait in their neck of the woods.”

I bite my lip. There’s no way I can walk through the forest for hours and expect to stay on my feet. But I also don’t want to be on my own in the arena – truly alone. That’s something I haven’t done yet, and I don’t want to start today.

“Olivia…” Linden says hesitantly. She looks at him with one eyebrow raised, a clear challenge to defy her. Linden swallows and says, “I don’t think we’re all up to it.”

“I can do it,” Blaine volunteers suddenly. “I’ll go with Olivia and you three can stay here – unless, Pius –”

“I’m staying with Thesia,” he answers quickly.

“And I’m staying here,” I press. “I’ll guard camp for a few days – I can’t go very far anyway.”

Everyone nods, and that decides it. Olivia and Blaine leave camp with their share of food, weapons, and medical supplies. I climb into a tree and lie on my stomach, suspended by branches and supported by the sleeping bag. This is nice because it means nothing except the smooth, light fabric of the sleeping bag has to touch my back, which is in more than a little pain because I sat against the tree for four hours. At first, Linden and Pius sit on the ground, talking quietly and scanning the trees for any sign of movement. Then, they leave. It’s so eerily quiet I can hear them walking and talking for a long time.

I don’t like being on my own like this. Every breath I take is magnified by the silence. Every gust of wind is an animal that will come kill me. It’s not fear that I feel…It’s paranoia. As I lie on my stomach, staring at the ground, I realize that the arena, despite all of its quiet moments, has taught me to anticipate every bad thing that could happen. I wasn’t ever like that at home, when I was such a goody-goody I didn’t need to worry about getting caught.

The sound of the boys’ voices has just again reached my ears when I hear another sound – one that is unnatural.

Human.

It’s just a brush against bark, a light swear, but instantly I freeze. My hands clutch the knives they hold more tightly, ready to attack, but I dare not move into a less vulnerable position. It would make too much noise. And as long as they don’t have a bow or spear, if they find me I’ll have more than enough time to prepare.

I can see someone now – a tall, gold-headed someone with no visible weapon. My heart seizes in my chest. It’s Glass, the boy from 1 who decided to leave the Career pack early on. If he was confident enough to leave them, there’s no doubt he’s skilled enough to take me out quickly.

He sees the tracks we’ve left in the dirt and stops short. I can’t hear Pius and Linden anymore – have they spotted him? I hold my breath and watch Glass. He is looking for the people who left the tracks, his hand going to his pocket. He pulls out a thin tube and a diminished pack of darts.

 _So that’s his weapon,_ I think, desperately hoping the darts aren’t poisoned. _A dart gun._

My hands squeeze both of my knives again, and the infinitesimal noise I make is enough to catch his attention. He looks up and spots me, and after a moment of alarm he positions his dart gun. Without thinking, I duck under the sleeping bag and curl up into a ball.

I don’t know what I’m thinking – why am I not defending myself? My eyes are open but I can’t see anything. I have no way of knowing what he’s doing, or if help is coming. There’s a gasp below me, a light tap in the wood close to my head, a sickening squelch, a cry – and a cannon.

“Thesia?”

I pull the sleeping bag down, hardly daring to glance at the ground.  Pius is climbing up the tree, his wide eyes concerned. I see Linden below him, wiping a bloodied sword off on the ground. Glass is curled on the ground, his white suit covered in blood. I groan and look back at Pius.

“I’m fine,” I say. “He didn’t hit me.”

Pius sighs. “He almost did,” he says, pointing just to my left. I look and see a dart embedded in the fabric of the sleeping bag, just inches from me. I sit up and pluck it from the tree – that must have been the thud I heard – and examine it. It’s obviously been used before; there’s a dent in the otherwise perfect metal of the tent. But what could it have been used for? Without someone dying?

With a grunt, Pius pulls himself onto the tree limb where I sit. Below us, Linden slips away into the trees and the hovercraft fetches Glass’ body from the forest floor.

When it’s gone, I push myself up and pull my legs out of the bag.

“Can you get down alright?” Pius reaches out a hand to help me. Annoyance tugs at my insides; I know that Pius is only trying to be helpful, but there’s a pitying look in his eyes that makes me self-conscious of my vulnerability.

“I’m fine.” I toss the sleeping bag to the forest floor sharply. “I can climb down a tree by myself.”

He looks a little hurt, and for a moment I’m sorry I got so annoyed. But before I can say anything, he mumbles, “Alright,” and moves to another branch to work his way down to the ground. I climb down the branches with a little difficulty, but reach the ground safely. There’s a sharp pain in one of my stitches, but I don’t think it’s worth making a fuss over.

When I reach the ground, I stare at the dark patch of blood where Glass was killed. I see Linden a few feet away, leaning against a tree. He’s brooding, and the dark shadows cast over his face make his features stand out in stark contrast to his pale skin. The cut that he got in the bloodbath is now a long, thin scar on his cheek.

He catches me staring at him and, sheathing his sword, makes his way over to the clearing.

 

We wait for Blaine and Olivia all day long. Clouds roll in and cover the sun a bit after noon, so we decide to eat our potatoes and pretend to strategize. We’ve hardly gotten anywhere when it starts snowing lightly. Above the cover of the trees, I can see the flakes swirling around like angry wasps and I’m thankful for the protection of the forest. No doubt the Careers are huddled in their tent and the boy from 10 is hiding somewhere – come to think of it, we don’t even know where he’s camping. He could be right under our noses and we would never guess.

It’s dark by the time Blaine and Olivia arrive back at camp. They sit down, completing the circle we’ve made around what’s supposed to be a fire. Linden bends over it with a match in one hand and flint in the other, but the wind is blowing so strongly the flame can’t stay alive. Finally, he gives up and hunches over against the cold.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Pius asks, pulling out the bread. He breaks it in to five pieces and gives each of us one.

“The Careers were trying to scale the cliff. They didn’t have any success, mind you, but they tried,” Blaine says. He tears the crust off of his bread and stuffs it in his mouth.

“It probably didn’t mean anything,” Olivia cuts in.

Blaine glances at her, then in the direction of the cliffs. “Still, makes me wonder…”

I nibble at my own bread and stare at our would-be fire. Tiny snowflakes pelt my face like shards of glass, and I’m glad that I’ll be in the sleeping bag tonight – even if it is with Olivia. The temperature seems to be dropping by the minute, and though it’s not the coldest I’ve ever been, it’s getting close.

When the national anthem starts, we don’t even bother going to the clearing. We know who died today – Olivia and Blaine were told by Linden – and there’s no point in exerting energy when I don’t have any to spare. Aching and exhausted, I crawl into the sleeping bag with Olivia and almost instantly fall asleep.

The next day, our eighth day in the arena, is much like the one before. Olivia and Linden go to scout what they can, I sleep in the tree, and Blaine and Pius search the forest for food we know we won’t find. The snow continues to fall heavily, the temperature continues to drop. Sometime in the afternoon my back starts to itch, which I take to be a good sign – that means it’s healing.

When Olivia and Linden troop back to camp, they tell us three interesting things: One, the Careers left their camp unattended to scale the cliff (unsuccessfully). Two, the boy from 10, who has been hiding in the northern part of the forest, took this opportunity to steal both food and, more importantly, their tent. And three, seeing the Careers so intent on finding out what’s on the other side of the cliff has made them reconsider their decision not to find out for ourselves.

“So what’s that mean?” Blaine asks, leaning forward as if to hear them better.

Olivia glances at all of us and says, “Tomorrow, I think we need to get over the cliff ourselves.”

 

When I wake up the next morning, snow blankets everything. We’re all buried under the stuff, shivering and wet. The black sleeping bag isn’t even visible under the five inches of snow covering it. I quake and force myself to stand up. Linden has managed to get a fire going and he and Olivia sit huddled close together. He beckons for me to join them and I do so, burrowing under his open arm as much as I can. The fire is still weak, but snowflakes melt as they get close to it. The two aluminum cans sit in the very middle of the fire, simmering and full of needles and bark. When they start to boil, we take them from the fire and place them in the snow to cool. Then, we sip at them with a strange mix of half-hearted starvation and start reviewing our plan.

“You two and Blaine will try to climb the cliff near the caves,” Olivia says, counting the numbers off on her finger, “and Pius and I will spy on the Careers and see if they have any luck.”

Linden and I both nod. We decided on the plan last night, though it took much negotiation towards Pius to separate from me – and even more negotiation to convince me to get close to the caves. We still don’t know where those mutts came from, and if it was anywhere near there I don’t want to even look at the spot.

When Blaine and Pius are both awake, we start packing up camp. The snow is falling so steadily that a few minutes after we take an item from the ground the indention it left is covered up. I shake snow from my hood and shoulders, wincing when a stitch is pulled too tightly, and place a hand on my back. It feels like it’s smoldering, but I don’t have time to worry about it. We leave camp as soon as we’ve erased any record of our being there.

I fall behind the rest of the group, walking in step with Pius. He smiles down at me. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” I say truthfully. “It would be nice if someone would send us some food, though.”

He nods, a small laugh escaping his throat. “The only thing we seem to need here – food. No wonder they call it the Hunger Games.” Then, sobering, he asks, “How’s your back?”

“I think it’s healing,” I say. “It’s itching like crazy, but it’s hot, too. I’ll check it later tonight.”

“You should put snow on it,” he suggests, “if it starts bothering you too much.” He frowns, and I know exactly what he’s thinking – infection. Itching and heat can mean one of two things – your wound is healing, or your wound is infected. And out here in the arena, I can’t take the chance of it being the latter, especially without strong medicine.

“Come on, you two,” Olivia calls from up ahead. I roll my eyes and grab Pius’ hand, pulling him forward.

We walk for about an hour and a half, during which time the snow stops falling quite so hard. The ground is soft and powdery; we can barely hear our own footsteps. When I breathe out, my breath comes in little puffs of white air. Looking around me, I realize for the first time how beautiful the arena actually is. The trees, placed at almost too-perfect intervals, are covered in downy snow, and it takes my breath away to look at it. The Gamemakers have outdone themselves this year.

When we reach the cliff, I try to stay as far away as possible from the black mouth of the cave. Linden drops his backpack and whistles, looking up at the sheer face of the cliff, stretching up a hundred meters or more.

“We want to climb _that_?” he asks in disbelief.

“Just try,” Olivia says. “Pius and I will see you later.”

She starts walking toward the middle of the arena, but Pius hangs back. He smiles at me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Be safe, okay, The? I still have my promise to keep.”

“You be safe too,” I say, subconsciously touching his hand. I can feel his ring through the thick fabric of his glove. He drops his hand, leaving the spot where it rested cold and empty, and joins Olivia. I look over at Linden and Blaine, who holds the rope in his hand. They’re debating the best way to start. Blaine wants to see if we can climb using the many caves reaching up the cliff; Linden wants to go for a more direct approach.

“What do you think, Thesia?” Linden asks, holding his chin pensively. I bite my lip and look up at the cliff. The caves aren’t really close enough to climb from one to another until much farther up, but the only thing we could use to get there is a thin branch sticking out from the cliff face. If we could use the rope…

“Did either of you go to the knots station in training?” I ask.

“I did,” Blaine says. “What do you want to do?”

“Tie something that can go around that branch and stay tight enough to support us,” I instruct him. He does so, making a small hole at the end of the rope that, when he catches the branch, tightens. I smile and ask, “Can it hold our weight?”

Blaine pulls on the rope. The branch bends but does not snap. “What do we do now?” Blaine asks Linden and me. I look at Linden and wait for him to answer.

He catches my eye and says, “I think I’m the lightest. I’ll try to reach that cave right there.” He points to a cave that sits just a few feet below the branch. It’s small, but there’s another cave close to it that anyone could easily reach.

“Try it,” I say, stepping back. Blaine hands Linden the rope and joins me. We draw closer as he pulls himself up, using the rock as a foothold. He slips a few times and we tense, ready to catch him if he falls, but after a few tense minutes he reaches the cave and pulls himself in.

The rope drops down and Blaine hands it to me. “You next, Thesia.”

I’m about to start walking up the wall when I hear a sound that stops my heart.


	15. The First Kill

I’ve dropped the rope and started running before Blaine and Linden can even react. Olivia screams again. The sound is cut sickeningly short, and a few seconds later there’s a cannon shot. I stumble, crying out. My feet pound on the snow as I will myself to go faster, but I know I can never get there quickly enough.

Seconds later, another cannon sounds.

My heart pounds in time with my feet. Panic blinds me and I’m gasping for air, but I don’t stop until I break through to the clearing. Once I’m there, I wish I could turn around, because there’s nothing blocking me from the gruesome sight laid out. Pius and Olivia lie on the ground, separated and bloody. Three of the Careers crouch on the ground, examining their bag. One, who must be Otto, picks up Olivia’s axe and laughs.

“Looks like we’ve found ourselves a good haul,” he says.

They haven’t noticed me yet. I don’t even think as I get closer to them and pull my knives out of my snowsuit. All I know is that these things have killed Pius, and I want to kill them. Rage becomes absolute, and I have no room for fear or pain. Otto does not know I am charging him until the knife in my right hand is plunged into his back, effectively severing his spinal cord and piercing his heart in one fluid motion. He doesn’t even have time to gasp as I push him aside. The two girls, Sylkie and Arden, look at me, shocked and afraid. I kick Otto’s body out of the way and jump at Arden, stabbing her deep underneath the collar bone. I scream at her, twisting my knife when it won’t go any farther, and her cries of pain match mine of anger until I slit her throat and push her aside. I turn to Sylkie, who has given up on attacking me and is scooping supplies into her arms as fast as she can. For a moment, our eyes meet.

Then she’s gone.

I watch her run away, screaming for her to come back. I hear two cannons; my attack hadn’t even taken ten seconds. The cannon shots clear my head. Now that the danger has passed, my anger sweeps away and I start shaking uncontrollably. I turn to where Pius is and let out a choked sob. Otto’s mace is still embedded in his chest, right over his heart. He’s pale; paler than I’ve ever seen him.

Once, when I was very small, I was playing with Pius and Wart near one of the tall walls that protected the Peacekeeping office. The two boys had gotten in a fight over who was stronger, and Wart had bet Pius that he couldn’t climb to the top of the wall.

“I can, too!” Pius yelled. He turned around and ran for the wall, finding a handhold in the rough stonework. With a last determined look at his best friend, the blonde-haired boy had started scaling the wall. Wart and I looked at each other; he hadn’t been expecting Pius to do it. No one touched that wall. They weren’t allowed.

Immediately, Wart panicked and started begging Pius to come down. We both did. But he didn’t listen. He climbed until he reached the top. Then, he stood up straight and proud, beaming down at us from fifteen feet in the air.

“Told you I could!” he exclaimed in his small seven-year-old voice.

There was the sharp snap of a gun, and Pius cried out in pain. A bullet passed so close to him that it grazed the side of his head, drawing blood. Wart and I watched in horror as he stumbled and fell off the wall, landing awkwardly on his leg. There was a snap, and he screamed. All the blood left his face.

Wart ran closer to his friend, terrified, and looked at me. “I’m getting Mother,” he said. “Stay here with Pi!”

Then he ran off, leaving me alone with Pius. He had passed out from the force of hitting the ground, and I didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. I sat next to him, crying for him to wake up, while blood pooled around the right side of his face. He was so pale. I was crying too hard to check his breathing. I had thought then that no one could ever look less alive than Pius did at that moment. I was more afraid than I had ever been, because I thought the Peacekeepers had killed Pius. All my life, it had been my worst, my most terrible memory.

Now, though, that terror is nothing. My panicky cries were nothing compared to the throaty sobs now forcing their way out of my system. That moment was not half as horrifying as this one.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I cry, running towards him and dropping my knife. “Pius!” I collapse on my knees next to him and take his face between my hands. The blood on my gloves stains his white skin, making gruesome flowers on his cheeks.

I crawl closer and pull him into my lap. Wet, hot tears land on his face. I think they are mine, but I am too disoriented to know. My body is being crushed from the inside by grief; my head and chest are flooded with it.  I cradle Pius’ dead body, sobbing, and hear Blaine and Linden crash into the clearing. They take in the scene silently, horrified, and run over to Olivia. Linden kneels next to her and shakes his head. She’s been stabbed by a sword, and I don’t have to hear her still heart to know that she’s dead, too.

The boys see me holding Pius, the front of my snowsuit covered in fresh blood. They see the bodies of Arden and Otto lying feet from me in the snow, and put two and two together. Wordlessly, Blaine steps past me and starts picking up supplies Sylkie abandoned to the snow-covered ground. I don’t even look at him as he passes. My tears blur my vision, and all I can see are the large red blotches I leave on Pius’ pale skin as I stroke his face, sobbing.

I shouldn’t be crying. I should be helping my allies gather up the abandoned supplies so we can leave this place as quickly as possible and let the Gamemakers can pick up the bodies. I should not have attached myself to this boy as much as I did.

I should not have been forced to go into the Hunger Games with my friend.

Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. I hiccup and look at Blaine, whose face is a blurry mess. With a sniff, I blink my eyes until I can see him clearly. He looks solemn and slightly disgusted.

“We have to go, Thesia,” he tells me. “We can’t do anything else.”

I nod shakily and wipe at my eyes, but the tears refuse to stop coming. Pius isn’t here to protect me anymore. I have to fend for myself now. Carefully, as though he were sleeping, I lower him back on the ground and squeeze his hand like I did this morning. I feel his ring again – his caduceus ring that has now been through fourteen tributes – and gasp.

“Wait,” I say desperately, as though Blaine were pulling me away from his body. My heart beats hard as I rip his glove off – and there it is. The golden ring glints in the sunlight, the caduceus on its face matching my necklace. I take my own gloves off and unzip the top half of my snowsuit. My hands are shaking so hard it’s difficult to unclasp my necklace. Finally, the two ends slip apart and the chain is free. Gently, I set the necklace in the snow and take Pius’ hand. It’s still warm, and as I slide the ring from his finger, I can almost imagine he’s still alive. I slide the ring onto my chain and put the necklace back on. The ring and the charm clink together, silver and gold together again. Something about it feels so absolutely _right_. I am able to control my tears as I take Pius’ hand again. I lock my fingers around his and lift it to my cheek.

“Bye, Pi,” I whisper. Then, I drop his hand and stand up. Linden hands me my knives, which I abandoned to the snow. I take them, give the bloody clearing one final look, and leave Pius behind.

The hum of the hovercraft lasts a long time – after all, it has four bodies to pick up. I don’t look back at the place where they died; I know I won’t find anything if I do. Instead, I wipe my eyes again.

Something catches my eye.

On the ground in front of us, as though it is part of some cruel joke, is a red flower. I look from the stain on my fingertip to the flower and back again, and suddenly I know why the flowers are here.

They’re a reminder that the Capitol wants blood. And what the Capitol wants, the Capitol gets.

 

I don’t do anything the rest of the day. We walk until we reach the pond, and when we stop I lie down on the ground and don’t get up. I don’t care that I’m acting weak – now that Pius is gone, the possibility of my surviving this seems to have disappeared. Linden and Blaine let me be – they’re mourning in their own way. When the anthem starts playing, I roll over and look up at the sky. First Arden’s face, then Otto’s, stare down at me.

 _You killed them_ , I think. _You’re a murderer, Thesia. You’ve caused two families unbearable grief._

Otto’s face is replaced by Pius. New tears fall from the corners of my eyes, threatening to freeze onto my skin.

 _Bye, Pi_ , I think. _Goodbye for good._

Next is Olivia. She looks so defiant in her picture, and so heartbreakingly familiar I spill a few tears for her, too. Then the anthem plays again and they’re all gone.

That night, Linden volunteers to take first watch. I get into the sleeping bag with Blaine, and when he offers his arm as a pillow I don’t protest. I cuddle close to him and bury my face in his chest. I’m done crying now. Numbness is taking hold, spreading over me like a blanket.

I don’t fall asleep until long after Blaine’s breath has evened and the snow has started up again.

 

When I wake up the next morning, I’m vaguely surprised to find myself alone in the sleeping bag. It’s eerily quiet, and the snow falling peacefully onto my pink face unnerves me. I sit up and see Blaine leaning against a tree, staring moodily at the ground.

“Linden’s gone,” he says without looking up.

I frown. “What?”

Though his head doesn’t move, his piercing gray eyes slide up and meet mine. “He’s gone. He must have left last night.”

Hardly believing him, I scan the forest. Nothing. Not even footprints to tell us which direction he went. I exhale, stunned, and ask, “But…why?”

Blaine shrugs halfheartedly. “I suppose since Olivia’s…gone he didn’t see the need to stay. It’s down to six people, anyway. They were going to leave soon.”

“Him and Olivia?”

He nods. “I heard them talking about it.”

I look down at the ground. Thoughts swirl through my head like the snowflakes landing on my hair.  I’m oddly hurt by the idea of Linden and Olivia leaving together – and even more so by Linden leaving alone. The alliance is broken, and any minute he could come back and kill us.

But on top of that, Blaine said that there were only six tributes left. Six. Thesia, Blaine, Linden, Sylkie, Kenzie, and 10.

I never thought I would make it this far.

But Pius is dead.

Pius.

I close my eyes and force myself not to think about him. Or Wart, or Pius’ family back home. Instead, I pull my knees up to my chest and ask Blaine, “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “I figure neither of us have much of a chance without the other. But we’ll have to split up eventually.”

Smiling sadly, I get out of the sleeping bag and start rolling it up. “I’m game if you are,” I tell Blaine, “but I think we need to find a better campsite if we want to make it to the end.”

When we gather up our supplies, we find that Linden took the fire-starting kit, the water container, and one of the backpacks. Blaine is angry that he took the container, but I tell him, “It could have been worse,” and glance at the medical kit. My back itches intensely now, and Pius’ idea of infection has plagued my mind. I know that I should check it, but I don’t want to take my snowsuit off. I’m freezing even with it on.

Blaine shoulders the remaining backpack – the one that he took from Olivia’s body yesterday – and hands me the backpack that Otto was wearing. There’s an ugly brown smear on the yellow surface, but the dried fruit and matches inside are untouched. It strikes me as odd that Linden didn’t take the food, but for all I know there was a feast inside. I didn’t notice the pack until just now.

We take a drink from the lake and start walking north, toward the field. We don’t have a good reason for doing this; it seems like familiarity drives us to that place. I stay close to Blaine the whole time, observing our surroundings and expecting to be attacked by whatever tributes remain. We stop to rest when we reach the river. Ignoring the pain in my back, I lean against a tree and close my eyes. The events of the last few days – especially yesterday – have worn me out. I’m still weak from blood loss and I haven’t had a decent meal in three days. Blaine sits down next to me and hands me the package of fruit. Wordlessly, I rip it open and carefully count the pieces.

“If we have five pieces each, we’ll have eight left for later on,” I say, taking my share and tossing the bag to Blaine. He promptly tosses it back.

“Eat all nine pieces,” he instructs. I start to protest, but he cuts in. “We’re both starving and exhausted – and who knows how long these games are going to go? So eat the fruit and we’ll figure it out later.”

Reluctantly, I do as he orders. It’s not that I don’t want to eat everything – I want to with every fiber of my body. I’m just worried that a time will come when we’ll need food more badly than we do now, and we’ll have none.

Blaine leans against the tree next to me and sighs. His olive skin is peaky, and there are dark circles under his eyes. I can’t imagine I look much better – my head throbs and my back is on fire and grief still hangs over me like a suffocating cloud. All I want to do is go to sleep and forget everything about my present situation.

Almost without realizing it, we stay against the tree until darkness falls. I doze off several times, only to be awakened by Blaine stirring or a snowflake landing somewhere sensitive. We eat the loaf of bread as the anthem plays, and by the time I look up at the sky it’s gray and cold.

“Ten days,” I say, still looking at the sky. Snowflakes fall onto my face, bitterly cold. “Who would have thought we could last ten days?”

“Two underdogs like us?” Blaine asks, smiling sideways at me. “I’ll bet District Two just about hates us for outliving their tributes.”

My face falls. Blaine’s simple words are all too great a reminder of the events of yesterday. Arden and Otto, who died by my own hand. I want to tell myself that they were Careers; that they killed Pius and Olivia, but I remember what Pius told me when we were in the tree – that they want to get home just as much as we do. But I shrugged him off and refused to believe him.

That was one of the last conversations we ever had.

Blaine senses that he’s said something wrong. With a slight, awkward movement he places his right arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Thesia,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I lean my head on the bony crook of his neck and sigh. “It’s alright,” I tell him. “I know I shouldn’t be so upset about it. I mean, it puts one of us two people closer to getting home, right?”

“It’s alright to be upset about it. What you had to do wasn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He gives my arm a gentle squeeze and pulls away. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go to bed. Maybe we’ll feel better in the morning.”

When morning comes, however, I feel worse than ever. Blaine and I are buried under inches and inches of snow, which makes it plenty warm. Normally I would have enjoyed it, but my back burns so badly the heat makes me feel claustrophobic. I jump out of the sleeping bag, rousing Blaine in the process, and scratch at my back roughly. My back isn’t the only thing burning, either – my cheeks and ears feel like they could catch on fire, but I’m shivering uncontrollably. Fever.

“What is it, Thesia?” Blaine asks sleepily, crawling out from under the sleeping bag.

I unzip my snowsuit and nearly rip off the top half, barely noticing the bitter cold in my haste. Then, I pull up the bottom of my long underwear and unwind the gauze. “How bad is it?” I ask Blaine, turning around.

I can tell by his hesitation that he’s confused, but he answers, “It’s infected – that’s what the red lines mean, right?”

“Yes.” I sober a little and pull my shirt down. The gauze, only half-unwound, trails down my side. Parts of it are streaked yellow and red, and now that my snowsuit is off I can feel pus leaking down my back. I squirm disgustedly. “Turn around, will you?” I tell Blaine. “I need to clean this off.”

He complies and I take my shirt off. The cold makes me shiver even harder but feels so good against my hot skin that I, in a temporary fit of insanity, fall back into the thick snow. Immediately, my skin jumps alive with pain.

It, in a strange way, feels wonderful.

“You alright?” Blaine asks, jumping slightly when I land on the snow.

I sigh. “Yes. No. Hold on.” I push myself up from the ground just as the cold becomes unbearable. My back prickles uncomfortably.

“What are you going to do?” Blaine asks. “And can I turn around now?”

“Hold on,” I say, grabbing my shirt. I slip it over my head and say, “Alright, you can turn around. But I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I stare at the snow, thinking and trying not to worry. There’s antiseptic in the medical kit, but it’s weak. It probably won’t help the infection any. If Blaine and I could do something worthy of sponsorship, though, it might help until we could get a stronger medicine. But what could we possibly hope to do? We apparently hadn’t gotten any sponsors after I killed the C – Arden and Otto.

I pick the gauze up from the ground and stare at it. It’s stained with pus and blood, frozen over in some places and still sickly wet in the other. All in all, it’s too dirty to put on again, and we’re almost out of gauze. The best I can do is clean it and hope for the best.

Awkwardly, I reach behind me and dab at the wounds on the lower part of my back.  Blaine is somewhere behind me. I can hear him shuffling around in the show, not sure whether to offer help or just sit there. There comes a point, though, when I can’t reach the middle part of my back, so I turn to him and say, “Would you mind helping me?”

He pales a little bit and stammers, “No.”

I carefully hand him the bandage, noting that he takes great care not to touch any bodily fluids staining the fabric. He swallows and asks, “What exactly do you want me to do?”

I roll my eyes at his hesitation and give him specific instructions before asking, “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“No one in my family has ever gotten hurt like this,” he says, lifting my shirt and tapping my back gently. “And even if they did, my mother or sisters would take care of it, or we’d send them to the healer.”

I remember the night of the reaping, when we got a glimpse at Blaine’s many family members, and smile despite myself. “You have sisters?”

“Four, right now,” he says.

I frown, confused, and ask, “What exactly does ‘right now’ mean?”

He is quiet for a few seconds, absentmindedly dabbing my back. Then, he says, “I’ve had six sisters total, but one died when she was a baby and the other caught the measles when she was six. And Mama’s pregnant again, so maybe I’ll have another sister in a few months.”

“That’s awful,” I say, oddly numb on the inside. “I’m sorry – about your sisters, not your mother.”

He scoffs. “It was a long time ago. Death’s not easy, but it’s just a part of life. Especially in District Twelve.” When he says the last sentence, his voice is dark and trembling, like he’s trying to control his tone. I look at the ground awkwardly, not sure what to say to this, until he speaks up again. “Besides, we don’t exactly have the room or money for more children. Mama and Father are the only ones old enough to work in our family – I was supposed to start working in the mines come fall, but…” He trails off.

_But I won’t be alive in three months._

I swallow back the tears that well up behind my eyes and ask, “How old are they? Your sisters?”

“My oldest sister, Lily, is fifteen – just your age, right?” I nod. “Then comes my brother Reed, who’s fourteen. Then Bryony, who’s ten, Dahlia, who’s eight, Calla, who’s five, and Finch, who just turned three.” He holds his hand out and I give him the antiseptic tube with a small thanks.

“I can’t think of growing up with that many siblings,” I say, trying to imagine all of the black-haired boys and girls, the mere mention of whom softens Blaine’s tones like nothing else. “Back home there’s only my two brothers, Wart and Sorrell.”

“Wart…he was Pius’ friend, wasn’t he?”

“His best.”

When I say this, it almost comes as a shock that I don’t cry. I’ve spent the last two days wallowing in misery – but now, it’s as though I’m scared to cry. I shake my head and force myself to think about other things. The sudden shock of cold gel on my burning back makes me jump. Blaine laughs and apologizes but keeps spreading the antiseptic – with, I notice, a clean strip of gauze.

“You’re not one for gore, are you?” I ask him.

He laughs a little and says, “Not particularly. When I was five I witnessed my mother kill a chicken I was particularly fond of. I think the emotional scarring alone was enough to make me hate blood.”

“You have chickens?” I ask, somewhat fascinated. People have animals in District 6, of course, but it’s mainly in the poorer part of town. I don’t see poultry and livestock on a regular basis, so the idea still holds a sort of novelty for me.

“Had,” he corrects. “All of ‘em were stolen or killed by the time I was seven.”

“Oh,” I mumble, wincing when he touches a particularly sore spot. “I’m sorry.”

I hear him shrug. “I can’t really blame the people who stole ‘em. Chickens in District Twelve are like gold in the Capitol.”

I smile and add, “I bet they’re a lot more edible, though.”

“I don’t know,” he says, a sarcastic lilt to his voice. “I think I saw a bit of gold on one of our desserts at the Training Center.”

With a laugh, I shake my head at the ridiculousness of that thought – gold on a _dessert_? In my dear, minimalist district, gold is used for wedding bands and necklaces. Almost anything else is out of the question – especially food. To me, this is the very definition of silly Capitol antics.

A snowflake lands on my exposed neck, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end. “Are you almost done?” I ask Blaine, quickly changing the subject.

“Yes.” He lowers my shirt and scoots away. “Is that it?”

I nod, feeling one of the wounds with my exposed fingers. It’s hot to the touch, hotter than my fevered body.

 _Help me, Clover_ , I think as I stand up and pull my snowsuit back on. _Soon._


	16. The Sting

I feel better after downing fever pills and eating some snow, but it still doesn’t solve our greatest need now – food. I’m already hungry again, and our last traces of food disappeared last night. Blaine suggests we raid the Careers’ camp, but I don’t think I could hold out long in a fight.

“What about the cliffs?” I ask. “Linden left us the rope.”

Blaine bites his lip and says, “Do you want to know something, Thesia?” He fingers Olivia’s backpack. “I don’t think there’s anything beyond those cliffs.”

I frown. “But–”

“I wanted to go to give us something to do. To keep some horrible disaster from happening to us. After seeing the way Byte was killed…” He shivers and shakes his head. “Besides, that’s where we ran into the Careers – and like you said, you don’t have enough strength to fight. Or walk to the other side of the forest.”

An odd, disappointed feeling, quickly followed by harsh annoyance, hits me. I slouch and stare at Blaine, who never objected to our exploring the cliff face or suggested another plan. This crazy scheme – the idea that _something_ , anything at all, could be over the cliffs – has enchanted me, and I don’t want to give it up. It is because of our initial exploration Pius is dead, and I feel like failing to traverse the cliffs would be failing him. As much as I hate to admit it, though, Blaine’s right on at least one count. I don’t have enough strength to traverse the arena – at least, not yet. I lie back in the snow, still angry at Blaine for shooting me down so quickly. I’ll make him go as soon as I’m strong enough.

Blaine watches me silently, wondering what I’ll do next, until the silence between us has grown so unbearable he snaps and asks, “Aren’t you even going to fight back?”

I look at him, one eyebrow raised, and shake my head. “No.”

He sighs and walks over to me, holding out a hand. I grip it and pull myself up, moving too quickly for my malnourished, blood-deprived body. After a minute of dizzying blackness, my vision returns and I blink at Blaine several times.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I am now,” I say faintly.

He purses his lips but still says, “Then would you mind letting go of my arm?”

I look down at my hand, which holds his hand in a viselike grip. “I’m sorry,” I say hurriedly, letting go. He brings his arm to his chest and massages it, shaking his head with a laugh.

“It’s fine. You’re just stronger than you look.”

I watch him as he readjusts the backpack on his back, and then decide to pick up my own. He obviously thinks we’re going somewhere – the mystery, however, is where that place is. Almost without another word he takes off, north again. He moves so slowly I want to ask him to speed up, but soon I’m tired and the fever pill is wearing off. So instead, I beg, “Let’s stop.”

“Alright.” He looks at me for the first time in two hours and smiles. “How are you holding up?”

I wait to answer until I’ve situated myself on the ground, in a particularly soft pile of snow. “Alright, I guess,” I say. I slowly count the number of times my head throbs in the span of a few seconds – nine times – and ball up a handful of snow to eat. Blaine joins me on the ground.

I eat my snow quickly and wait for my headache to subside, which takes longer than I had hoped. The sun is, as far as we can tell, in its noontime position by the time we start walking again.

Blaine is as silent as he was earlier. I watch him, waiting for conversation, but nothing comes. Finally, I lose patience and ask, “So, do you have a plan?”

“Get as far away from the lake as possible,” he says, “but stay in the forest. Keep away from the other tributes as long as we can. Find food.”

I bite my lip, trying not to protest at the lack of organization in this ‘plan’. The cedar trees have already given in to oaks; we’re practically standing on top of acorns that could supply us with dinner. I wait a few more minutes before suggesting another break. When Blaine consents, I kneel next to an oak tree and start digging. He soon joins me. At least a foot of snow separates us from the ground, and the snow falls so quickly in the few minutes it takes me to reach the bottom more snow has started building up on top of my hands. I shake it off and reach down into the sizable hole we have created, pulling up acorns and abandoned shells.

“Are they any good?” Blaine asks, pulling up his own handful. We crack open an acorn at the same time and bite into them. The taste of tannin fills my mouth, but it barely hides the nutty flavor of the acorn. I wince a little and chew the rest of the nut, swallowing it and trying to ignore the dry, sour taste left behind.

We eat the acorns as fast as we can, ignoring the fact that we’ll regret eating them in the morning. A few are so bitter I can hardly choke them down.

When we’re done eating, we continue towards the field. It’s almost in sight now, and though I don’t know what awaits us when we get there, I start forward at a faster pace. Whatever the case may be, the sooner we get there, the better.

We stop as soon as we reach the edge of the forest. I have no idea what time it is, because the snow is falling so thickly even the top of the cliff is obscured. Even if I could see the sky clearly, clouds would still cover the sun.

Despite the cold air and blinding snow, the field looks beautiful. Inviting, even. There’s something so pretty about the monotone landscape, the bits of green still fighting to poke through the snow. But it’s a battle soon to be lost.

“I think we should stay in the forest tonight,” Blaine says.

I nod. “I don’t feel like spending the night in a field in a blizzard. Do you think we could start a fire?”

“We’d be hard pressed to find wood that’s dry enough.” Blaine sighs and sits down, scooping up a handful of snow to eat.

“If the snow in the field gets deep enough, we could theoretically build a cave in the snow. At the rate it’s going, though, it will take more than a day to be enough.” I shiver at both the thought of spending the night in this blizzard and the wind, which is fiercer than ever now that we’re at the edge of the forest. I hadn’t realized how much protection the trees gave us before.

The rest of our day is spent digging at the bases of oak trees trying to find acorns to eat, but the few we do find are as bad as the ones this afternoon. My stomach turns sour from the tannin, and a few minutes after sunset I throw up in the snow. I lean over, clutching my stomach and moaning. Anything that had been in my stomach now lies in front of me in a putrid puddle.

After I stop shaking, I walk a few yards away and lean against a tree trunk. Blaine comes over and gently touches my back.

“You alright?” he asks. I nod halfheartedly and spit on the ground. The taste of my mouth alone makes me want to gag.

“Too many bad acorns,” I mumble.

After a few minutes I feel well enough to cover the vomit with snow. This blocks the smell, for which I am thankful. I walk back to Blaine and shiver.

“Is your fever gone?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.” I join him on the ground. “If it’s not gone by morning…”

He shushes me and unrolls the sleeping bag. “Don’t worry about that. Go to sleep and we’ll see what happens in the morning.”

I want to tell him that I can’t sleep on a stomach as empty as mine; I can’t sleep when my back itches and the soft touch of snow sets my skin on fire. But I still crawl into the sleeping bag and try to fall asleep. And I almost have when something lands on top of me.

“What was that?” I ask, sitting up in the sleeping bag. What I see almost makes me laugh out loud with glee – a silver parachute attached to a syringe that’s full of clear liquid. “Blaine, look!” I grab the parachute and take it off of the needle gently.

“What is it?”

“It’s for me – it must be,” I say. What other use could this needle have? Clover must have sent it to get rid of my infection. “Oh, thank you,” I whisper.

But then comes the matter of giving myself a shot. I’ve had a few shots in my lifetime, and every one of them hurt and brought tears to my eyes. The thought of sticking a needle in my arm makes me cringe, but I have to do it. Quickly, I unzip my snowsuit and let it fall to the ground. Then, I push the arm of my undershirt up to my elbow, where it occurs to me I can’t see well enough to do anything useful.

“I don’t believe this,” I groan. How can it not be light enough? The anthem hasn’t even played yet – which means it’s not seven o’clock. “Blaine, hand me the backpack.” He does so without a word. I slip one glove off, placing the syringe on my lap, and reach inside the backpack for the matches. I find them with a bit of groping and pull the box out. “Here,” I say, handing it to him. “When I say so, could you light it and hold it up against the glass?”

“Sure,” he says, taking the box. While I position the needle, he draws a match out.

When we’re both ready, I say, “Now.” Blaine lights the match and, after a sputtering second, it lights. He holds it up against the glass while I tap it, searching desperately for any bubbles rising to the surface. Nothing does. At least, I don’t think anything does – I hope nothing does. “Did you see anything?” I ask Blaine, just to be sure.

“Uh…no,” he mumbles. I know immediately he has no idea what he’d supposed to be searching for. Oh, well. I’ll just have to hope for the best.

I instruct Blaine to light another match and hold it close enough to my arm for me to see. He does this, and with the greatest care and slightest apprehension I insert the needle into the vein in my elbow. The instantaneous pain makes me wince, but I shake my head and push the liquid into my body. When it’s all gone, I take the needle out and staunch the flow of blood with my sleeve. Blaine blows the match out and puts everything back in place.

“Will that make you better now?” he asks, lying back down.

I pull my sleeve back down and put my snowsuit back on, shivering all the while. “I hope so,” I say.

I lie down, too, and watch the gray-black sky. The hours that pass until I fall asleep are spent in a half-dream state that seems to surpass reality and embrace a new, strange sort of imagination.

 

The next morning, something is not right. I know it the moment I wake up, but I can’t put a finger on what it is. Blaine isn’t asleep anymore, but he’s lying beside me in the sleeping bag, shivering in the freezing air. A full-fledged blizzard swirls around us, howling and pelting uncovered skin with hard snowflakes. My fever, at least, is gone, which means that my infection is healed. I feel relief pour through me when I realize this – but soon it’s replaced with that odd, displaced feeling.

I exhale, watching as my breath curls up and is blown away. Blaine rubs his eyes, yawning, and looks at me.

“I don’t particularly want to move,” he says.

“Neither do I.” I rub my arms under the sleeping bag, which turns out to be harder than I thought it would be. Two people in a bag made for one doesn’t leave much room in which to move around. “What do you think would happen if we stayed here all day?”

He shrugs. “Nothing much, I suppose. We might get bored, though.”

“Only as bored as we’d be sitting around waiting for the blizzard to pass.”

“And warmer.”

“Mm,” I say, yawning. “And warmer.”

I lean my head on Blaine’s shoulder and stare at the sky, trying to ignore the wind. The way it howls through the trees reminds me of someone crying. In fact, I think someone _is_ crying – but it’s no one I know. I sit up in the sleeping bag abruptly. Cold wind blasts my body, but I ignore it.

“Blaine,” I say slowly, perking my ears, “do you hear anything?”

“Over this wind?” he asks. “Not a chance. C’mon, Thesia, it’s freezing. Lie back down.”

But I don’t. The screaming has gotten louder, and lower. I scan the surrounding trees, gazing through the thick snow, trying to see anything that will tell me what the noise is. The thought of a fellow tribute doesn’t cross my mind – it’s not possible that their screams could have lasted this long.

And then I see it. Or, rather, him. A dark shape up ahead that stumbles through the snow, screaming and crying for someone to find him. My breath catches and I hop out of the sleeping bag. It’s not possible that he could be here – he’s been dead for three days.

Hasn’t he?

But I don’t care anymore. What matters now is that he’s only yards away, crying for help. My heart pounds in my ears as I run toward his shape, yelling his name. “Pius! Pius, over here!”

“Thesia!” Blaine yells. I hear him hop out of the sleeping bag. “Thesia, there’s no one there!”

But there is. Blaine just can’t see him through the thick snow. My desperation grows as I run toward Pius, but he gets further away with each step I take. He can’t hear me calling for him.

“Pius!”

I break through the line of trees and into a solid wall of white. Pius is ten yards in front of me, looking in the same direction I am. I call his name again, hear it shattered against the wind, and watch as he turns toward me slowly. I smile, triumphant, and press a hand against my chest. My heart hurts from running, but it’s still alive with excitement.

Before I see his face, though, he disappears into the snow and someone grabs my shoulder. “Thesia,” Blaine pants, “what was that?”

“He…” I say, pointing to the spot where he had been just a few seconds ago. “He was right there.”

“No, Thesia,” Blaine says. “There’s no one there.”

He takes my hand and pulls me back into the forest. I resist, though, as I stare out into the whiteness. I _know_ that Pius was there – he’s not really dead. I didn’t see them take his body away, after all. And now he’s lost –

“Thesia.” Blaine is getting annoyed now. “There’s no one there. We have to get back to our camp or we’ll lose everything.”

I take a few tentative steps back into the forest, but Blaine has to half-drag me until we reach our campsite. Already our possessions are half-buried in snow. It’s lucky we found them again, really. I chastise myself for running off so quickly. As we dust the snow off of our belongings, Blaine tells me again and again that I was imagining things, or seeing shapes in the snow. Eventually, doubt begins to creep into my mind. If that had been another tribute, I could have put us in serious danger.

The rest of the day we build a small shelter out of snow. It’s a simple thing, really, with three walls and an entrance guarded by two large trees. It blocks most of the wind and snow, though, and eventually we’re able to build a small fire. We settle down for our first meal that day, pine needle tea that’s cold before we can drink it. When I’ve choked down all I can, I reach for the fire and warm my stiff hands. They’re red and chapped even though I wore gloves while building the shelter. The fire seems to do nothing but make them sting.

Blaine sips at his tea from an aluminum can. The mark on its cold metal that identified it as beef stew has long since been burned off, but just looking at it makes me remember the taste of that final good meal.

“How much longer do you think this is going to last?” I ask solemnly.

Blaine stares at me through his wide gray eyes, planning his answer carefully. “Well…no more than a few days, if the other tributes are as bad off as we are. We’ll be dead in a matter of days if we don’t find some food soon.”

“I wonder how that boy from 10 is doing, since he stole all those supplies from the Careers,” I wonder aloud. “He’s probably warm, all curled up in his tent.”

As an answer, Blaine just nods, and in his lack of words I notice that the wind has completely stopped. I open my mouth to ask something when a blare of trumpets echoes through the arena.

“Is it time for the anthem yet?” Blaine asks, standing up and looking outside. It’s still snowing, but the air is completely still.

And then, Claudius Templesmith speaks. “To the remaining tributes: You may have noticed that there has been a lack of food recently.” Blaine and I snort. “And some of you may have noticed that when you went to raid other tributes, they had no food either.” Had the boy from 10 been back to the Career camp? “A feast has been called for all of you in need of extra food. It starts at the Cornucopia at dawn tomorrow. Best of luck, and try to get a good night’s sleep.”

His voice disappears, leaving the air as silent as a grave. I look at Blaine, whose face is practically glowing with excitement. Our luck, it seems, has taken a drastic change for the better.


	17. The Feast

“Do you want first watch?” I ask Blaine. Several hours have passed since the announcement of the feast, and since then we’ve done nothing but plan and speculate. We figure that if there’s only enough food for one person, we’ll let the others deuce it out. Our knives are hardly ample protection. If there’s an actual feast, though – well, all we can do is fight for our lives and hope for the best.

“You can have it,” Blaine says, shaking his head. He grabs the sleeping bag from its well-protected corner and unrolls it. We climb inside, and while he sleeps I watch the gap in between the two trees. Our fire has been put out, but even with the white snow it’s hard to see more than a few feet out of our shelter. The wind, which started up again shortly after the announcement, is blowing more fiercely than ever. My extremities ache like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I long more than ever for the mild climate of District 6.

I wake Blaine up after several long, restless hours and squirm further into the sleeping bag to be as warm as possible. I rest my head against Blaine’s leg, shivering and rubbing my arms, until exhaustion wins over me and I fall asleep.

_BOOM._

I’m jolted awake by the sound of the cannon. Even though it’s close to familiar by now, it still makes my heart race. Who’s died? How?

Blaine is sitting up stiffly, looking around. After a few moments of tense silence he relaxes and says, “Go back to sleep. We’ll find out who it was in the morning.”

 

The gray morning light leaks through the clouds, leaving the snow surrounding the Cornucopia a dull white. Blaine and I are crouched behind the hills surrounding the plain, waiting with bated breath. No other tributes are in sight. Even the Careers seem to have abandoned their post.

I know that everyone in Panem is watching this moment – the most exciting thing that’s happened for days. Our families are glued to the TV, waiting to see if their loved one will die. I try to push that image – one of my family, my parents and my brothers and maybe even my cousins or grandparents, all sitting anxiously around our television – out of my head. But it’s hard; so hard. They’ll be wondering if I’ll survive. If I’ll get food. If there will even _be_ food. I wish I could at least know the answer to this question, because despite the fact that I’m so hungry I’m dizzy, I don’t want to risk my life fighting for a slice of cheese.

As the minutes tick by, I grip the handles of my knives and stare at the tundra. No one is in sight; nothing, it seems, is even moving. Where is everyone?

And then the ground opens up. I catch my breath, staring through the lenses of my sunglasses at the hole in the earth. A table rises up slowly. This is the moment we have been waiting for, the moment of truth, when our carefully laid out course of action will be decided. The top of the table comes in to view, laden with food. An apple falls off of the table and lands heavily in the snow. I watch it hungrily. I’m salivating beyond belief. But I’m nervous, too. When will the other tributes go for the food?

The table comes to a stop and waits there, almost too good to be true. The silence and stillness has almost become overwhelming when there’s movement to my left. The boy from 10 appears, clutching a sword and running as fast as he can.

“One down,” I whisper. Blaine nods. It’s been decided between us that whatever the case was, we would wait until all the other tributes were in the open to go.

Sylkie appears almost immediately after the boy. She comes from the same direction as he, moving stealthily and clutching something small – a knife? She is almost on top of the boy when he notices her and turns around. They start fighting brutally, neither gaining the upper hand because of their weapons. I notice movement out of my peripheral vision and snap my head in that direction.

Linden.

He is running toward the table, glancing anxiously at Sylkie and 10 and no doubt looking for us. This must mean that Kenzie died sometime last night. I feel a momentary wave of relief that he is still alive and then look at Blaine.

He nods, and we jump over the top of the hill.

As soon as my feet hit the ground they’re moving, running over the plain like they did in races. Linden notices us but does not move to attack. The other two are still caught up in their fight, but the boy is losing quickly. He moves in too close – and there’s a cannon shot. Sylkie pushes him aside and comes for the table. I try to increase my speed, desperate to get to the table before she does. Blood is pounding in my head, but I try to push it aside. I can’t get tired now. Not when so much is at stake.

I’ve almost reached the table when Sylkie crashes into Blaine. I swerve to avoid them, forcing myself not to help him, and reach for the table. I grab the first thing I see – a long loaf of bread – but as I pull it away another hand reaches down and grabs it.

I look at my opponent, surprised and terrified. Linden stares at me with wide eyes. He grasps his sword in one hand. It’s raised to attack.

Time seems to slow down. Neither of us moves away or makes any attempt to attack. I watch as his fingers squeeze the hilt of his sword. Is he going to kill me? He has every reason to. I don’t break his gaze. My heart is racing as fast as my thoughts. I have my own knife in my hand; I could kill him right now, before he even has a chance to hurt me.

But do I want to?

My grip on the bread loosens, and in that moment of hesitation his eyes flash. In one swift movement he kicks me away. I fall, losing the bread, and land sprawled in the snow. By the time I’ve stood up he’s yards away from the field, food clutched in his hand.

I watch him go, breathless from shock, before I hear Blaine scream. I whirl around and see him fighting Sylkie, a streak of blood running down his chest. His face is pained, but he presses on, slashing at her throat.

“Get the food, Thesia!” he yells. I snap to my senses and look at the table. Immediately, my gaze falls on bread and a sack of apples. I grab these and stuff them in my backpack, taking dried meat and canteens of water as well. As a last thought, I stuff everything I can in the bag, leaving Sylkie with a pitifully small collection of food. Then, with a shout to Blaine, I take off across the field.

I hear Sylkie give a grunt but force myself to keep on; whatever happens to Blaine happens. This was part of the plan. _Don’t look. Don’t look._ I count my steps as I go, and I only stop when I’ve reached the other side of the hill. I collapse against the soft snow, panting, and look around me. Nothing.

After a few seconds, I hear the crunch of snow under running feet. Then, Blaine leaps over the hill and lands on all fours. He falls, his back heaving, and makes no attempts to get up.

“Blaine?” I ask, running over to him. He rolls on his back and stares up at me. The wound in his chest is still bleeding. “Blaine, did she hurt you?”

“Not much,” he says with a grunt. “I don’t think she stuck me too deep.”

I bite my lip concernedly, but force myself to not offer help.

Blaine pushes himself up, gasping a little and placing a hand on his chest. I lean in to help him, but he holds a hand up. “We need to get back inside the forest. Who knows what Sylkie and Linden’ll do when things have calmed down?”

I stand close by him while he stands up, my arms poised to help if he stumbles. “I don’t think Linden’s going to hurt us until Sylkie’s dead,” I say hesitantly.

Blaine scoffs. “What makes you say that?” he asks, shouldering his backpack and heading for the still-frozen river. I start off after him.

“When you were fighting Sylkie, we grabbed the same piece of bread,” I tell him. “He had his sword drawn, and I was ready to get him with my knife, but…something in his eyes changed. He ran off with the bread. He could have killed me, but he didn’t.”

Blaine does not reply. He steps on the ice and has made it halfway across when it lets out a long groan. The blood drains from his face – if the ice breaks, we’re in deep trouble. Neither of us knows how to swim, and even if we did the water is freezing – we know that much from the lake. We’d be dead for sure.

Cautiously, he makes his way across the river, watching the ice beneath his feet like a hawk. The moment he steps off the ice, I step on, holding my breath. Beneath my feet, the ice creaks like a squeaky cart. Directly in front of me, a long crack appears.

I freeze.

“Come on, Thesia,” Blaine says slowly, as though the ice were an angry animal keeping me from safety. He holds out a hand.

I step over the crack, hoping that it will stay put. The second my foot touches the ground, I take off like a deer, not stopping until I hear the crunch of snow under my feet. Only then do I realize how afraid I was. My heart is pounding in my chest and I can almost feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I look back at the river, at the long, thin crack in the ice, and let out a deep breath.

Without a word, Blaine takes my hand and pulls me into the forest. We walk in silence for a few minutes before he stops, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Are you alright?” I had almost forgotten about his knife wound. I put a hand on his free arm and watch his face. After a few seconds, his pained expression softens.

“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t move his hand away from the wound. “Give me the kit.”

He unzips his snowsuit and begins to take off his shirts. I try to act as nonchalant as possible as I take the medical kit out of the bag. I’ve never seen a boy without a shirt on before – except for my brothers, of course – and though Blaine isn’t the best physical specimen, it’s still...Nothing. I shake my head and toss the kit next to him, sitting down.

He looks down at his chest, using his undershirt to wipe the blood away from the stab. The blade barely missed his heart. I see that the cut is deep – not lethally so, but enough to inflict awful pain.

“You’ll need stitches for sure,” I spit out, “but you’ll be fine.”

“Good,” he sighs.

He squeezes antiseptic onto a clean patch of gauze, pressing it against his bare skin. He gasps, his face set in a hard grimace, and sets the gauze aside. Using a match, he sterilizes the needle and then threads it, hands shaking. He stares at the needle, and then at the cut which is already seeping blood again. “You know, I’ve never been hurt so badly before. Never had stitches in my life.”

“Really?” I frown. “That’s strange.”

He shrugs. “There’s not much in District 12 that could hurt a kid. Wild animals haven’t snuck in since I was seven.”

“Wild animals? Don’t the fences keep them out?”

He stands up and puts his undershirt on while I try not to watch. “Those fences are about as useless as sandals in winter. They hardly ever work…why? Do yours?”

I shrug. “Too well, most of the time.” It’s odd that the fences in 12 don’t work – and if the fences don’t work, that probably means they don’t have much electricity, either. How awful _that_ sounds.

Blaine grunts. I watch as he lifts the needle to his wound and pushes its sharp tip under his skin. He hisses, pained, but pulls the string through.

“Only five more to go,” he says, grimacing dryly. His eyes are alight.

Once his wound is sewn shut and the snowsuit replaced, we open my backpack full of food. The sight is so wonderful I have to take a few seconds to soak it all in – apples and dried meat and still-warm bread and cheese…I smile when I take it out. We use a knife to cut into the hunk of hard cheese, eating it on slices of bread and apple. It seems to melt in my mouth – it’s the first real food I’ve eaten in days. I lie down on the snow and close my eyes, feeling my lightheadedness ebb away slowly. Even the cuts on my back seem to hurt less after a few minutes.

“Thank you, Gamekeepers,” I sigh.

When the noontime sun fills the forest, we pack up our food and start walking toward our fort. Now that I’ve eaten, a new liveliness fills me, and I take delight in everything from the colors of the sun reflecting off the snow to the still, crisp air around me. Blaine walks ahead of me, eager to get back to camp, but I notice him glance at the ground and smile. Then, he stops. His face falls.

“What is it?” I ask, catching up to him.

He points at the ground. “It’s that flower again.”

I see the splash of red on the ground, as foreboding as it is beautiful. The flower is fresh, not yet frozen by the snow. The mere sight of it makes me step back, breathing hard, as my blood freezes in its very veins. That flower, the messenger of death and blood, has come back to haunt us. I don’t know what scares me so much about it, but I do know that I have to get as far away from it as possible.

“We have to get out of here,” I say, grabbing Blaine’s hand. “Come on.”

I start running and don’t stop until I’ve outrun my very terror.

 

When we reach the fort, I jump and grab the lowest branch of a tree and pull myself up.

“What are you doing?” Blaine asks. He’s still breathless from our high-speed dash across the forest. He swings the backpack off of his shoulder and lets it fall to the ground.

“I can’t stay down there,” I say. “Not now that we’ve seen the flower.”

“Thesia…” He pulls himself up onto the limb where I sit. “I think that no matter where you stay, we’re in constant danger from now on.” I try to protest, but he quiets me. “Before, it was a game of cat and mouse. Now, there are four tributes left. The audience is clamoring for a big showdown, so I’m willing to bet that when the next two people die – that’s it. One big fight between the final two and it’s all over.”

I pull my knees to my chest and stare at the ground six feet below. I can follow Blaine’s train of thought exactly. There are four tributes. Two are probably going to die soon. And how much easier would it be to kill two allies in some horrible accident than pick off other, individual tributes?

“Do you think we should split up?” I ask solemnly. I don’t want to leave Blaine – I don’t want to be alone in the arena. Not until I have to be.

Blaine swallows and says quietly, “Let’s see in the morning.”

 

When morning comes, though, we’re still undecided. To kill time and pretend like we’re doing something interesting, we “scout” around our area, looking for recent signs of life. We walk for maybe a mile, our eyes watching the surrounding area keenly. The only disturbances I see in the otherwise perfect landscape are footprints that we left yesterday. As it always has been, the arena is completely devoid of life.

“Isn’t it strange that they didn’t put any animals at all in the arena?” I ask, staring at the tree branches for birds I know don’t exist.

“I guess they thought that if there was only one food source there would be a lot of fighting.”

I snort. “Fat lot of good that did them.”

We stop at the edge of the forest for lunch. Sylkie seems to have disappeared from the plain entirely; I’d be willing to bet that after she killed 10 she found his camp and took back all of her stolen possessions. There is no trace of the feast that happened yesterday – the table and food are long gone. But there are footprints and signs of a struggle, barely visible in the white glare. Even with my sunglasses on the snow hurts my eyes.

We eat bread with cheese and jerky, carefully rationing it out so we’ll have enough food left for whatever is to come. I pile everything on the bread, take one bite, and decide that beef jerky does not make for good sandwich meat. As I pick out the jerky and eat it separately, I ask Blaine, “What would you do if you won?”

He cuts another slice of cheese from the block and stares at it, taking a long time to answer. “If I won the Games? I’d move my family into the nicest house in Victor’s Village and make sure they always had plenty to eat. My father wouldn’t have to work in the mines anymore – he could start a new business, like he always dreamed of.”

I smile to myself as I eat the last of my lunch. I can only dream of the things I would do if I won – but no, I shouldn’t have asked Blaine that. We’re so close to winning, and yet the possibility of our dying is much higher than that – higher than it’s ever been. I can’t fantasize about winning until I’m in the Capitol.

“What’s the matter?” Blaine asks. “You’re frowning.”

I shake my head and smile at him cautiously. “It’s nothing. I was just…thinking.”

“Oh.” He looks at me, disbelief etched plainly on his face. “Well, come on. We should scout some more before the sun sets.”


	18. The Promise

That night, long after the sun has set and the nightly recap has taken place, Blaine and I sit high up in a tree, talking. We are sitting on opposite ends of the sleeping bag, our knees touching under the black fabric. We’ve spent the last few hours here, sometimes talking and sometimes just looking out at the forest beneath us. It’s almost peaceful.

“I never liked math much,” I say. Our most recent conversation is on – of all things – school. “It sounds strange when I say it out loud – I’m always counting things or making them even. But I didn’t ever have the patience for it.”

Blaine smiles. “I liked math better than history, at least,” he says. “History was always the same lectures on the Dark Days and the Hunger Games and the Capitol’s rise to power. Nothing about Panem’s pre-history or the other Districts.”

“I suppose they thought that too much history would incite another rebellion,” I sigh. In truth, history had always been my favorite subject. For reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I loved listening to my teacher explain even these meager details to us. Every ounce of information I could glean from her was interesting – and I probably gleaned more information than most students. “It’s too bad, really. Clover – my mentor – told me something about people who lived hundreds of years ago. He never told me where he learned that, though.”

“Maybe becoming a victor is merited by rights to know everything you ever wanted,” Blaine smirks. “But what did he tell you?”

“Not much, really,” I say, fumbling for my necklace. I take it out and hold the charm and ring up for him to see. “He just told me that this was some sacred symbol for them. It somehow ended up as the symbol of our District.”

Blaine takes the items in between his two fingers and looks at them as best as he can. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “I didn’t get a token.”

“Why not?” I ask. I hadn’t even thought about anyone else having a token – or lack thereof.

He shrugs. “Tributes from 12 never last long. I guess we’re not worth it.”

I frown and fumble awkwardly with my necklace. “I’m sure they’re proud of you back home for being in the final four.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his uncovered hair and leans against the trunk of the tree.

Several minutes pass before we start talking again. In that time, snow starts falling gently. I have no doubt it will soon turn into a blizzard the likes of which have never been seen, but for now it’s pleasant. Not too cold, not too dark. I tuck my necklace back into the folds of my snowsuit and watch the sky. My hood falls back, exposing my ears to the chilly night air. I quickly pull it back up.

“You know, this was my favorite kind of weather back home,” Blaine says, sitting up straight. I watch as a snowflake lands on the sleeping bag, then look at him, waiting for more. “Mama always thought I was crazy for liking it – it didn’t bring anything but a cold house and more expense. But I always went to the Meadow when it started snowing and just watched the snowfall for hours. It let me forget about school, or food, or which little brother or sister was sick.” A smile plays on his face as he reaches out to catch the snow. “Until I came home and couldn’t warm up because I was so wet and cold!”

We laugh quietly, breaking the eerie silence that had settled over the area. I lean forward on my elbows, wiping my runny nose, and look at our laps, the black expanse of sleeping bag that is getting covered up by the now-quickly falling snow.

And then several things happen at once.

I notice the first snowflake that fell onto the sleeping bag. Though a minute or more has passed, it still sits in the same spot, not melting. And I’m sure it’s the same snowflake; something tells me it is. Blaine runs a hand through his hair and gasps as I wipe my nose on the back of my glove again.

But the second my glove touches my skin, it’s stuck. I look at Blaine, confused and frightened and knowing that something is wrong. He is still struggling with his hair, tugging his hand away in a vain attempt to separate them. Our eyes meet. His are surely a reflection of mine – sparkling and fearful. What’s going on? Has the fabric in our clothes turned to glue?

We sit for a few minutes, struggling to free ourselves. My nose starts burning from cold – what’s going on? The snow starts falling harder, and only when it pelts my face do I realize: It’s not our clothes that have turned to glue.

It’s the snow.

Fighting down a sudden panic, I wrench my hand away from my nose. The two separate, the glove taking a chunk of skin with it. I cry out in pain and I gasp, “We have to get out of the tree.”

Blaine seems to have come to the same realization as me. He forces his hand away from his head, grimacing as dozens of hairs are uprooted, and grabs a backpack from its resting place. The strap sticks to his hand, but he takes his glove off and sends it tumbling to the ground before starting down the tree. I grab the other backpack, doing the same, and start down after him.

We climb down the tree with growing desperation. I notice that every time I take a breath, snowflakes fly into my mouth and stick there, freezing the sensitive skin in my mouth and throat. Once, a snowflake lands on my eyelash and sticks my right eye together when I blink. After a few seconds of half-blindness, I force my eye open, ripping out my lashes, and continue on.

We’re still about fifteen feet from the ground when I hear Blaine cry out. I look down, freezing in my tracks, and watch as he loses his grip on the tree limb and falls backward, landing on his back with a sickening crack.

“Blaine!” I scream, half-sliding down the rest of the tree. I land on my bad ankle, which is still tender, and feel a sudden, intense pain that makes me fall down. I pull myself over to Blaine, who lies motionless on the ground, breathing heavily. “Blaine?”

He opens his glazed-over eyes and grimaces in pain. “Thesia…” he says weakly. “My back…”

I swallow down tears, trying to manage my hysteria, and asks, “What’s wrong with your back?”

But I know perfectly well what is wrong. Instinctively, I reach out to examine him, but he shakes his head. “It’s broken, The. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that.”

“No,” I moan, breathing quickly. My brain is telling me to abandon him and run, but I am petrified.

“Thesia,” he says firmly. He reaches out a hand and grasps mine. “You have to go. I…I can’t.”

Tears splash my face, but now I don’t try to stop them. I squeeze Blaine’s hand and sit up, kneeling over him. “Blaine…”

He closes his eyes again. A tear rolls down the crease of his eye. “Do you know…” He stops to pant. “Do you know how many kids from District 12 have made it to the final four?” He looks at me, his eyes bright now. I shake my head. “ _None_. I’ve done the best anyone from my district ever has. That’s enough for me, Thesia. But you need to go. You can win this.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as my mind yells at me to run. It’s getting harder to breathe.

“Thesia.”

This time, the voice comes from behind me. I jump around, sure I’m going to die by whoever is behind me –

But it’s Pius. He stands about five feet away, looking down at us. His pale skin glows in the dim light, and he’s not wearing his arena clothes. He’s dressed in the simple clothes he wore in District 6, and though the sleeves of his shirt are short, he doesn’t seem to be cold. The wounds that killed him are gone, replaced by pale, perfect skin. I frown at the hallucination, frozen.

“You have to go, Thesia,” he says, stepping closer. He holds out an ungloved hand, but I recoil. What is this? Some sort of cruel Gamemaker joke? “Come on,” he presses. He moves forward, but his feet make no sound in the snow.

“Who are you?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer, just comes closer, his hand only inches away from me. Hesitantly, I reach out to take it, but the moment I touch him he disappears.

Immediately, the wind begins howling in my ears. Blaine is still trying to convince me to leave. I look at him, listening blindly to his words.

“Go now,” he pleads. His voice is thick. “You have to win, Thesia. For both of us.”

I watch his pale face, tears still falling from my eyes, and nod my head. Something has changed – my resolve to stay with him is gone. “A – Alright,” I choke. “I’m going.”

I stand up, wobbling on my hurt ankle, and force myself to walk around him. I grab the two backpacks from the resting places and look back at Blaine one last time. His head rests in the snow. His eyes are closed. For all I know, he could be sleeping.

I stumble through the snow, going as fast as I can. But this is not easy. The snow sticks to me, burning my skin and gluing my feet to the ground. I have to cover my mouth and nose to block the snow that wants to choke me.

I’ve almost made it out of the forest when I hear the cannon. I stop, only for a moment, and close my eyes, trying not to cry. He’s gone now. There are only two opponents left.

When I stumble out of the forest, I see that my trial is not yet over. For even though the snow has stopped, another obstacle blocks me from safety.

The last time I saw the river, it was still whole. Now, it runs freely, most of the ice completely gone. I stand, watching the black water rush past me, and start crying all over again. I have come so far. I am in so much pain. Wherever the snowflakes have touched my skin they stick, giving me frostbite on any uncovered flesh. I’m sure my ankle is sprained even worse than before, if not broken. I’m so tired I could lie down and fall asleep. And yet, I have to cross the river. Even in my few moments of hesitation the snow has lashed out, urging me onward. To stay here would mean having the snow kill me like it killed Blaine. I’m sure it has half-killed me already; my lungs are heavy and on fire from the snow lodged in my throat. I wipe the tears from my eyes, ripping my gloves – and skin – away from the snow and limp along the river bank, looking for the thinnest part of the river. When I reach it, I drop the backpacks on the ground and slowly, almost methodically, take off my clothes.

My boots come first. The second my feet touch the ground, the thick socks are permeated by cold snow. I place my boots in the fuller of the two backpacks and take my knives out of my pocket, slipping them inside my boots. Then I unzip my snowsuit. The wind, which has died down since I left the forest, bites at my already-burned skin. I bite my lip and step out of it, not even bothering to fold the thick material before I stuff it in the other backpack. I pull my ratted hair into a high bun before taking off my long underwear and putting the shirt and pants in a backpack. Then, my socks come off. These are perhaps the worst; the one item I wish I could keep on, for the feeling of frozen snow on my tender feet is almost as agonizing as fire. I shiver uncontrollably, looking down at my underwear-clad body. It’s amazing how much weight I’ve lost in two weeks. I can see my ribs through my thin skin, threatening to break through. My hip bones jut out almost painfully and my wrists, usually delicate, look like they could snap between a child’s hands. Though it would be much smarter to take my underwear and brassiere off as well, I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t be seen naked in front of all of Panem.

When this is done, I take the first backpack and throw it over the river. It lands a secure number of feet from the bank. Breathing a sigh of relief, I do the same with the second backpack. It lands closer to the shore, but thankfully doesn’t fall in.

And then, I walk to the river. My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel lightheaded. I never learned to swim in District 6, and I have no way of knowing how deep the river is. The chances of my drowning seem pretty high right now, but there’s no going back. I’ll freeze to death if I stay out much longer.

So I step into the river. It is the most agonizingly cold thing I have ever experienced. My skin pimples, and if there had been any hair on my body it would have stood up stick-straight. I take another step in, nearly falling on my bad ankle, and then another. The current pushes against me, threatening to push me down, but I press on. I’ve almost reached the center of the river when suddenly the ground beneath me disappears and I’m whisked away by the current. My arms flail, looking for something to grab, and I kick my legs, reaching for land. My head dips underneath the surface and panic stabs me. I’m going to drown.

And then my right foot brushes gravel. As well as I can, I run forward in the water, not stopping until I have marginally secure footing on the ground. I stand there, panting and soaking and numb, and then continue on. I stumble to the shoreline, suddenly so tired and grateful to be on dry land again I lie in the snow, breathing heavily, no thought to my physical well-being entering my mind until the water on my body begins to freeze. I jump up and grab my bags, throwing my clothes on as fast as I can. I hug myself, rubbing my arms and hopping on one foot to warm up. It feels so inexplicably good to be in dry clothes again.

Since the sleeping bag was left behind in the forest, I dig a hole in the side of the nearest hill and bury myself in the snow, hoping it will keep me warm until daybreak. I curl inside of my cave, warm tears falling down my face. I’m still alive, but Blaine, my longest and best ally in the arena, is gone forever. I feel so empty inside, but I want to scream and cry until I don’t have any energy left.

Now that my thoughts have slowed down, I find myself retracing the events of tonight. I can’t stop thinking about that decisive moment when Pius appeared to me. I still have no idea what happened – whether he was some Capitol apparition or my own hallucination, brought on by desperation and utter terror. The fact that I don’t know scares me, and I fall asleep imagining the horrifying possibilities.

 

When I wake up in the morning, I can sense that this will be my last day in the arena. For better or for worse, it all ends today. Calmly, I dig my way out of my bed and spy over the hills to see if I can glimpse anything. The Cornucopia stands alone, shining brightly in the midmorning sun. There is no sign of life anywhere else.

Slumping back down the hill, I take bread and cheese out of my backpack and eat it glumly, staring at the opposite shore. The forest that used to be my haven stands before me, menacing in its dark, secluded shadows. From what I can see, the snow has stopped but the river is still liquid. I feel my face, wincing when my hands touch raw skin, but it seems like the mutt snow has disappeared from there as well. I look down at my burned, frostbitten hands and wish I hadn’t lost my gloves to the snow. They are raw and red and painful – I can only imagine what my face looks like.

I stay by the hill for hours, watching the sun pass by to my right and taking stock of my supplies to pass the time. Only when I hear sounds of a struggle do I look up. Immediately, nerves clench my stomach.

Linden and Sylkie are fighting on the plain. Instead of using his sword, he clutches something small – a knife, I assume – which makes the fight fair. They dodge and parry and slash and stab, occasionally scratching the other but never getting a fatal hit. Finally, Linden knocks her to the ground. I almost feel like I’m falling with them – the anticipation of what’s going to happen claws at me like a hungry dog. I watch, eagle eyed, as they roll on the ground. Linden grunts as he moves, trying to wound Sylkie from this awkward angle, but she moves with grace. She has been trained for this.

After minutes of breathless waiting, Sylkie plunges her knife into Linden’s stomach. I gasp, my eyes wide. He screams painfully, then rolls away from her and crawls a few feet before collapsing on the ground, curled into a ball. After a few moments, he is still.

I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry it is of no use. This is what it has come down to. Linden is dead. I have to fight Sylkie. And even though it will be easier for me to fight her than Linden, the thought fills me with dread. She is a much better fighter than I am. She’ll kill me in minutes.

I stand up and limp over the hill, trying to ignore my ankle as much as possible. The fact that I’m injured won’t help me at all.

I suppose my step is heavy, because she turns around before she’s even done wiping the blood from her knife. She grins ruefully. Something about her has changed – any sign of the sweet girl she used to look like is gone, replaced by a hard, cold, thin face. Streaks of blood run down her snowsuit where Linden cut her, and I can see other, half-healed wounds on her face.

We don’t say anything as I walk toward her, drawing my knives. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

I am only a few feet away from her when she pounces. She moves so quickly I hardly have time to react, but I manage to deflect her swipe with the flat of my knife. Her sudden movement throws me off balance, and while I stumble she slashes with her knife again, dealing me a clean blow across the chest. I gasp in pain and move forward, knocking her back, and manage to plant my knife in her shoulder. With a cry of pain she pushes me to the ground and jumps on top of me, pinning me down. Automatically I push upward, landing her a blow in the arm, but she merely reciprocates by stabbing me in the side. I feel the hilt press against my ribs.

I let out an agonizing scream as pain throbs through my chest. Gasping for air, I look up at her triumphant face and stab her in the stomach. The shot is weak, though. She stifles a cry, clutching her stomach with her free hand, and raises her arm to strike the fatal blow.

I stare at the red, glinting knife, fear and adrenaline coursing through me, but it’s not enough. Sylkie is going to kill me right here, right now. I close my eyes, sobbing in pain, and wait for the stab. I wonder what my family is thinking at this very moment. Are they crying like I am, already mourning my loss? Are they scared? Angry?

Above me, Sylkie jerks. Though I am not looking, I see the shadow of her arm change. Instead of hitting me in the chest or throat, her knife slashes through my cheek, cutting it from the edge of my mouth to the jawbone. I scream again, throwing my eyes open, and beg for her to kill me now. Never before have I wanted to die so badly.

But she doesn’t move. I watch her eyes flicker, wondering what she has done. A trickle of blood flows from her mouth, dropping onto my face. Then, Sylkie falls over and there’s a cannon shot.

I breathe heavily, looking around me. Linden kneels a few feet away, his knife in his hand. Blood flows from the wound in his stomach but somehow, miraculously, he is alive. Pain is etched into every line on his face.

I pull myself over to him, clutching the wound in my side. Warm blood gushes from my face, staining the snow and my suit. Linden catches my glance, his eyes wide, and falls forward. The knife drops from his hand.

“Linden,” I pant, reaching him. When I move my mouth, my cheek erupts in pain.

He turns his head to look at me. “I killed her,” he whispers. He’s going fast; the rasp in his voice tells me that much. “I killed her.”

“You saved me,” I say, still not believing what has happened. “Why?”

He gasps suddenly, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his stomach. Wind ruffles his bronze hair. “I would rather…you win…than her,” he says.

I swallow, and for a moment my vision blackens. I know that I too am dying. I’ll be dead soon. We both will be. I reach out a hand and touch his pale, bloodied face. “I don’t think I’m going to win, Linden. I don’t think anyone is.”

With a slight shake of his head he says, “You are. And when you do…” He whimpers, grimacing. “When you do, remember your promise.”

“Promise?” I ask. My vision blacks again, and for a moment I can’t breathe.

“You promised…to tell my brother…tell him I love him.” Linden’s body twitches spasmodically. I close my eyes, shutting back the tears that threaten to spill over. I just want to die. I’m in so much pain. I want to die and forget all about the Hunger Games.

 _Please_ , I beg. _Just let it be over._

Linden grasps my hand, forcing me to open my eyes. “Tell, him, Thesia,” he says. His voice lilts. He, too, is on the brink of tears. “Promise.”

“I…promise,” I say, gasping for air. Linden’s grip softens. I close my eyes again, and everything goes black as the twenty-third cannon shot booms in my ears.


End file.
